When Juliet Went Away
by Loafer
Summary: COMPLETE. Juliet goes away suddenly, leaving the men in her life to ponder the why of it. Shules exists, Marlowe doesn't, and this is Lassiet. Takes place immediately after and contains spoilers for S6's Indiana Shawn & the whozit doohickey.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: HOW many TIMES do I have to TELL you I claim zilcho where _**psych**_ is concerned? :-)

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: Juliet goes away for a while. The two men in her life ponder her absence in their own styles. **This will be Lassiet**, and you can blame Lawson227 for that. (Plus, this plot was her idea, so, uh, yeah.) Unless I totally fizzle out, in which case this opening chapter will soon disappear without a trace.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Lassiter got in Monday morning and draped his jacket over the back of his chair, then went to the coffee bar for his first cup of the day. Glancing at Juliet's desk, he noticed it seemed unusually neat. Almost too neat.

Back at his own desk, he sat down and started to look at the mail in his inbox, and the small sealed envelope at the top caught his eye. Addressed to him, in her handwriting.

_Carlton, I'm taking a few weeks off. I'm sorry to leave you in the lurch. I finished up what casework I could this weekend and I'll be in touch soon… Juliet_.

For awhile he stared at it, puzzled. She hadn't mentioned any plans, or even any hopes for plans. Her family was coming out this summer and she was scheduled to go to Miami for Thanksgiving, but both of those were months away.

A mental inventory of her behavior lately told him nothing. She'd perhaps been a little more irritable with Shawn and a little less irritable with _him_ when _he'd_ been irritable with Shawn, but the latter was most likely due to the former and as to the former, well, it was about time. In his opinion, anyway.

Maybe she _had_ been a little… quieter when they were alone together, in the car, at lunch, or just having coffee. Maybe a little slower to respond, and a little more thoughtful. She'd seemed to look at him more, as if she were trying to figure him out. He'd assumed he was annoying her, but then again, he was second-guessing a _woman_ here, which was entirely pointless.

Of course, Juliet wasn't a woman.

Well, she was a woman, all right. A _hell_ of a woman.

She was also someone _else's_ woman, he reminded himself, _so shut it_.

For her to take off suddenly, for such a long period of time, without any explanation… it wasn't like her. At all.

Not that she owed him any explanation.

Except she did, because she was his partner. Plus, he _knew_ her, and if she'd known she was going away, she'd have said something. She was conscientious and considerate.

So… she hadn't _planned_ to go away.

Which meant something could be wrong.

And he didn't like that. He didn't like the little niggle of worry forming at the back of his head. He didn't like that something might be wrong with his partner.

But then…

Oh, no.

Oh, no no no.

Oh_, holy freaking anti-gun lobby flower-tossing vegan hell-squirrel crap on a flaming cracker of everlasting despair_.

He put his head in his hands, trying to breathe, trying to fight back the edge of nausea and the twisting in his heart.

_Dammit. Dammit. DAMMIT._

She must have eloped with Spencer.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Karen Vick looked up when Lassiter tapped on the door. Her head detective's eyes were huge blue beacons of concern, horror and confusion. "Um, I'm a little afraid to say this, Lassiter, but can I help you?"

"O'Hara," he said without preamble, advancing to her desk but not sitting. He was tense. He was _tension_, period.

"What about her?"

"Where is she?"

"On leave. You didn't know?"

Lassiter's jaw clenched. "No. When did she ask for it?"

"Actually, she called me at home yesterday. She apologized for the late notice, she said it was important, and I was in a good mood, so I said yes."

He stared at her, and she felt as if she were being searched from head to toe.

"Detective?" she prompted.

"Spencer," he said, his voice harsh. "Did she elope with him?"

"God, I hope not," she said, and it was heartfelt.

He just…breathed for a moment. "She didn't… drop any hints?"

"Not about that, and Lord have mercy on us all if you're right." When this didn't calm him, she added, "Relax. I seriously doubt O'Hara is quite that impulsive." _And surely not that insane_.

"Is she okay?" Now he sounded worried, as if her simple statement was all he needed to brush away the fear of Juliet turning up in a few weeks as Mrs. Spencer.

"I… guess so. She sounded all right to me, but Lassiter," she pointed out, straightening up, "keep in mind that even if she wasn't, I'm really not at liberty to say."

Lassiter was perfectly still, but his blue, blue eyes showed an inner turmoil which surprised her with its intensity. "Chief. Please."

_Oh, hell. He's in love with her_.

Karen sighed, thinking of a dozen administratively sound reasons to send him away unanswered, along with a lecture about getting involved with your partner, but at the same time she knew that no matter the depths of his feelings for Juliet, he'd clearly never acted on them, and likely never would. He just wasn't built to make the same mistake twice professionally, and beyond that, he'd never move in on another man's girlfriend.

Well, she was at least _pretty_ sure about the latter.

"Lassiter," she finally said, because it wasn't in her to prolong his fear. "So far as I know, O'Hara is perfectly fine. She only said she wanted some time away. We talked about how hard it is for cops to _plan_ time off—you know it's true. As soon as you formalize the details, someone else gets murdered or kidnapped and the hell with a vacation. I think she just decided to act on the impulse."

It was sort of a marvel how he so very visibly calmed down, at least as much as it was possible for Carlton Lassiter to calm down. But the fear went out of his eyes, and his posture relaxed, and he took a deep breath before saying, "Thank you, Chief," very quietly and leaving her office.

Leaving her to wonder for the first time since Juliet's call exactly what _was_ going on with the young woman.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Lassiter never knew there would come a day when he'd be happy—relieved—damned near _ecstatic_—to see Shawn Spencer.

Out of his chair and halfway to meet him before Spencer had even finished fist-bumping McNab, Lassiter grabbed him by the arm and pulled him over to the coffee bar. "Where's O'Hara?"

Shawn looked him over with a frown. "Why are you asking me?"

Gus caught up. "We came to take her to lunch."

"You mean you didn't know she was taking off?" This was inexplicable.

"Taking off what?" he leered.

"_Spencer_. I am talking about _my partner_ taking time off from work."

"Oh, yeah? When will she be back? Like, later this afternoon? Because Gus and I were hoping she could take us to Funkytown."

Gus started up the chorus, and Shawn danced, and Lassiter considered shooting them both.

Throttling was an option, but he didn't want to actually touch him, because that could lead to Spencer's death and then to Lassiter's immediate dismissal (he didn't mind the thought of jail time, just the loss of his job).

He did spare a moment's thought for the possibility of this being a scam on Spencer's part, trying to make him believe he knew nothing... but why? On _Juliet's_ behalf? She would never let him do that.

Lassiter turned his attention to Gus, who most likely would tell the truth or lie so badly that the truth would be evident. "Guster, did _you_ know O'Hara was going to be away for a few weeks?"

Gus stopped dancing before Shawn did. "What? No. Really?"

Shawn reared back exaggeratedly. "You're on crack, man. Jules hasn't gone anywhere." He glanced at her desk, and Lassiter could see him instantly noticing precisely what _he_ had noticed this morning: how neat it was. Neat in a _won't be back for awhile_ way.

"You really didn't know." Lassiter stared at him, not quite believing it. Juliet had at least left _him_ the short note. "No call, no email, no text?"

Shawn patted his pockets, his frown coming along, and fished the phone out of his back pocket.

"What's going on, Lassiter?"

Lassiter ignored Gus until Shawn had looked through all his messages and texts.

"Nothing," Shawn said, surprised. "Nothing from Jules."

Gus persisted, "Lassiter. Juliet's really gone?"

"Yeah. For a few weeks." It seemed so unnatural. Even when she'd worked City Hall in the weeks after Yin tried to kill her on the clock tower, at least she was reachable. Findable. _There_.

"A few," Shawn repeated. "What does that mean? Two?"

"Few usually means more than two," Gus mused. "Two is two. Few is three or four."

Shawn stared at Lassiter, and for a moment, Lassiter could completely relate to his confusion. "Seriously? She's gone for three or four _weeks_?"

"I don't know, Spencer. I can't believe _you_ don't know."

"_I _can't believe I don't know either."

"Well," Gus suggested, "it's possible she told you and you didn't hear."

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Gus, I wouldn't forget my girlfriend telling me she was leaving for two months."

"Few doesn't mean eight, Shawn, and I didn't say you forgot. Probably you just weren't listening."

"I always listen!"

"No, you don't. You certainly don't listen to _me_. Just this morning, I told you not to iron the breakfast burrito, but did you pay any attention?"

"I paid _attention_, Gus. I just _ignored_ you. You were using the microwave and I couldn't wait anymore for cheesy eggy goodness!"

Gus glared. "We need a new iron now."

"_You_ need a new iron now," Shawn scoffed. "I've _never_ needed an iron."

Lassiter sighed, hearing _we hold these truths to be self-evident_ in his mind. He was just so damned glad Juliet hadn't married the idiot. While Shawn and Gus argued about the effects of breakfast burrito cheese on irons, he went back to his desk.

It wasn't until after they had wandered away to find lunch that he realized Shawn had never once uttered anything along the lines of _I hope she's all right_… which was the _only_ thing in his own damnably muddled head.

And heart.

**. . . .**

**. . .**


	2. Chapter 2

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Early Wednesday, somewhere around three a.m., Lassiter woke from a dream about rampaging squirrels and thought _I need to know she's all right_.

He stared at the ceiling, wide awake, pulse racing.

_I need to know she's all right._

By four a.m., he had vowed _not_ to run Juliet's financials to see where her credit card was being used; nor would he track her phone. He would _not_ abuse his authority out of nosiness when she'd only been gone two days (even if it wasn't nosiness so much as something he didn't want to think about right now).

Maybe after four or _five_ days, if he didn't hear from her. But not this soon.

At five, he got up and went for his run, and asked himself why he was so concerned in the first place. (Irrespective of that thing he didn't want to think about.)

She'd taken vacations before; she'd taken days off work before. So had he. It wasn't as if they were _never_ apart.

This just felt _weird_. All day Monday and Tuesday he'd felt… exposed. Aware of that too-tidy desk, its chair pushed in, its computer dark. No lilac-scented breeze as she'd pass. No smiling observations about the color of his tie, or admonishments for him to play nice. No eyerolls. (Okay, the absence of that last one wasn't so bad.)

It was the _not knowing_.

Truth was, if he _did_ think about _that thing_, Juliet was one of the very few people he actually gave a damn about, and the damn he gave was pretty big. In fact, he couldn't think of anyone—even Victoria, during the brief period when they'd been "happy"—he'd ever given as big a damn about.

He'd even threatened to shoot Spencer if he ever hurt her, and he meant it, down deep in his bones. He had come pretty close when Spencer was manipulating Juliet into seeing her father, but Juliet had wanted to take care of everything herself so he hadn't interfered.

He, Carlton Lassiter, _had not interfered_, because he didn't want to add to her pain and frustration.

(Hell, he should have at least brought the butt of his Glock sharply against Spencer's head. Just once.)

(Maybe twice.)

As he ran, trying not to think (or feel) what he didn't want to think (or feel), he wasn't seeing his springtime surroundings at all; he knew them by heart along with every place a car or a bike or a dog was likely to veer into his path. His mind was only on Juliet O'Hara, and where she was, and how he could find out without aggravating her.

And… find out whether it mattered to her what he thought at all.

_This_ thought, pathetic and self-serving and juvenile, made him run faster, push harder, pounding out on the pavement his desire to not care so damned much for a woman he could never have... which was something—a reality—he _needed_ to think about more often.

Because reality, the SOB, was at least a _reliable_ SOB, when it came to women he could never have.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

At his desk, steaming mug of coffee at hand and the case folder for a fresh burglary in a recent string of same in front of him, he realized he would never be able to shut his brain up by sheer willpower. Not when Juliet was the topic of its obsession.

He got out his phone and stared at it for a minute. Wherever she'd gone, even if she'd left the country, she'd be there by now. In nearly any time zone which mattered, he wouldn't be waking her. He wouldn't _call_, because that would seem too pushy, and he knew he'd sound like a total idiot, but he could text her. That would be safe, wouldn't it? She wouldn't mind, would she?

(Just in case, he paused to review their interaction in the days before she'd left, and once more concluded that he _probably_ hadn't done anything to piss her off.)

And really, there was only the one thing he simply had to know, so this wouldn't take too much of her time.

_Are you okay? Sincerely, Intruding Investigator_

He tapped 'send' before he could change his mind.

Now to wait. Maybe get some work done. Maybe he could put this aside, the flare sent; let her think about it awhile. She could be busy, getting a massage, having coffee—maybe she'd gone home to Miami and was sunning herself by the pool—oh hell, Juliet in a bikini—_FOCUS_—yes, there were many reasons she might not immediately be able to answer—

Bzzzzt.

_I'm good, I think. Thx for asking. You? Officer Optimist._

Lassiter smiled at the screen, far happier than he'd expected. She was _there_. Well, she was somewhere, and willing to acknowledge him as soon as she heard from him.

This was… _good_.

_At my grumpy best. Place is too quiet without you. Det. Dipstick._

Send.

He sipped coffee, and opened the folder. The most recent burglary was in a gated community, suggesting an inside job, and—

_Don't call yourself that, Carlton._

Oh.

He swallowed. After all these years, her unflagging loyalty still touched him.

_Sorry. Better me than someone else, which is the norm. Constable Conciliatory?_

Damn, but she typed fast—_Those someone elses are dickheads. Cpl. Crankyette_.

And double damn, but he felt his face growing warm.

_Thank you, Juliet. _

It seemed natural to use her first name. Then he sent another right away—

_Sorry to intrude on your time off. I just wanted to be sure you were all right._

Her response was again quick.

_You're not intruding. I don't mind hearing from you AT ALL. Just don't ask me about work. :-)_

From down by the front doors, he could hear Spencer and Guster approaching.

_Your boyfriend just came in. My aggravation level already went up a notch._

He expected something like 'say hi for me' (which he would refuse to do on principle) but what he got back startled him.

_Mine too, on your behalf. Big favor please? Don't tell him we talked._

He stared at the screen, puzzled. Spencer was getting closer, though, so he typed out a quick '_OK_._ Later,_' and put the phone back in his pocket, away from prying Spencer-eyes.

What the hell?

"Lassie my good man," Shawn said, dropping into the chair beside Lassiter's desk. "You're looking very—" He stopped, studied the death glare Lassiter was sending, and went on, "much like yourself. So what's up with the burglary case?"

"Stuff got stolen," he said succinctly.

"So funny," Shawn said. "Isn't he funny, Gus?"

"Hilarious." Gus glanced over at Juliet's empty desk. "I don't suppose you need our help?"

"For what?"

"He's in a mood, Gus."

"Yeah," Gus said absently. "Hey, Lassiter, what do you hear from Juliet?"

Lassiter looked him over. "I'm sure I don't hear as much as Spencer does."

Shawn was silent a moment. "I, um, haven't heard from Jules at all."

The morning was full of surprises. He said as much, and studied Shawn's expression. "You honestly had no idea she was going anywhere? When's the last time you saw her?"

"Friday, here."

"What did you fight about?" he asked bluntly.

"We didn't fight! At least I don't _think_ we fought."

Even Gus rolled his eyes at that one.

"Spencer, you either fought or you didn't. You claim to be psychic—can't you tell when a woman wants to kill you?"

"Oh, like _you_ can."

"Please, Shawn. It's Lassiter you're talking to." Gus immediately looked as if he regretted this, and took a step back.

But Lassiter wasn't offended, because Gus was right. "Exactly. I've had multitudes of women pissed off at me over the years, including O'Hara, so I know what I'm talking about."

"Lassie, comparing you to me is like comparing…"

"Oil and water?" suggested Gus.

"Brick and pudding," Lassiter supplied with a curl of his lip.

"Yes. That's what I'm talking about, and now I want pudding, thank you very much. The point is, we're nothing alike, man. At all."

"Yeah, Spencer, I just said that. What I'm waiting for _you_ to say is what you did to piss O'Hara off."

Shawn laughed. "Easy there, slugger. Hand off the Glock."

His hand hadn't been anywhere near his Glock, but he knew Spencer knew he understood his meaning.

Gus, fortunately, stepped in. "So have _you_ heard from her? Where is she?"

Two questions, one of which he'd promised not to answer. "I have no idea where she is. I didn't know she was gone until I got in on Monday."

Immediately, Shawn asked, "So she, what, sent you an email? A text? A voicemail?"

A handwritten note was none of those things, and Shawn was very unlikely to think of it as a form of communication. "Nope. I asked Vick." Never mind _what_ he'd asked her.

"So Vick knows where she is?" Shawn was already halfway out of the chair.

"Don't think so. _Seriously_, Spencer. You have no clue why she left without a word?"

He sat back, and with excess precision said, "Lassiraptor. Would I be sitting here quizzing _you_ if I did?"

"You might," Gus said. "You don't have a lot else going on today."

"That's fair." He got up, stretching. "I guess I'll go on waiting. But that's okay—Gus and I have seasons of _Silver Spoons_ and _Square Pegs_ to watch." He gave Lassiter another look. "Sure you don't need us on the burglary case?"

Lassiter gave it 1.2 seconds' worth of thought. "Pretty damn."

"Check." They ambled away, leaving Lassiter to ponder this new information.

He'd thought Juliet only didn't want Shawn to know they'd talked (which was an odd enough request)—not that she was apparently avoiding him completely.

Why?

He sure as hell knew why _he_ would avoid the idiot, but yeah, that was too easy.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Juliet stood on the deck, looking up at the night sky. The stars were crystal clear, sparkling vividly in the dark blue heavens, and the spring breeze was cool on her skin.

She was glad to be here, glad to have her opportunity to think, in peace. Solitude. _Peace_.

Her head and heart and gut had been roiling with unease and discontent and anger and hurt and regret and so much more; it would have been impossible to work through it all if she'd stayed in Santa Barbara. Even if she'd taken time off from the job, just being in town made her accessible, and she did not want to be accessible.

She could not _afford_ to be accessible until everything was clear in her mind. And in her heart.

For the gut, there were antacids.

She wasn't sure, as adamant as she was with herself that this solitude was essential, why her phone was in her hand, and why she wanted to text Carlton.

Telling him what was going on was not an option, not yet. Not until she'd made more progress with herself.

But his text to her this morning—from "Intruding Investigator"—said so much more than he could have imagined. It said he was concerned but didn't want to push. It said he cared about her enough to let her know he was worried, and also enough to let her know she didn't have to say anything more than "I'm okay."

She was sorry Shawn had shown up and ended their back-and-forth. But then, that was Shawn's thing: disruption.

Damn, the roiling was back.

She sat on the wooden bench, sighing under the stars, and texted her partner.

_I hope you're not still at the station._

It was nearly ten.

_Not tonight. You miss the place?_

She smiled. _Not yet. I might in a week or so._

_You're really going to be gone for that long?_

_Yeah, I am. I'm sorry for the suddenness. It just had to be that way._

There was a longer pause before her screen lit up again. _You have to do what's best for you, whether or not anyone else understands it._

Now why did that make her misty-eyed?

_Thank you, Carlton._

_Any time, Juliet. Any time at all._

**. . . .**

**. . .**


	3. Chapter 3

**. . . .**

**. . .  
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_Am I a good cop?_

The question came right after he turned out his light and settled into bed. It was just past eleven, and he hadn't texted her since yesterday, but he'd wanted to—enough so he'd had to lecture himself about remembering to not be a pushy asshat.

He sent: _Yes_.

_You're not just saying that?_

He couldn't blame her for wondering.

_O'Hara, I'm not nice enough to lie about whether you're good at your job. You know you're a great cop._

Pause.

_Carlton._

The single word on his screen seemed to shout out a hundred other questions, so he asked one of his own.

_What's this about?_

The pause was longer.

_Have I ever, really, been too quick to jump on a lead from Shawn?_

While he was considering how to filter out his opinion from the truth, she sent another one.

_Have I been gullible?_

And another.

_Have I been a damned fool?_

No. Influenced by hope and optimism, maybe, things he wasn't overly comfortable with. But never a fool.

What the hell number had Spencer done on her?

He thought _screw it_ and called her, and she answered immediately with a breathless sort of "Hi."

"O'Hara, listen to me," he said firmly. "You have never been either a fool or gullible. Spencer is a master manipulator but you've always kept your eyes on the goal of _solving the case_. If you're quicker than I am to follow one of his crackpot leads, it's only because you're more open to... the _unconventional_ than I am."

He could hear her breathing, somewhere far away, but yet so close.

"Thank you," she finally said.

He wanted to ask her where she was. Why she'd gone off so suddenly. Why she was asking these questions about herself. Whether he needed to shoot Spencer.

"Are you all right?"

Juliet sighed. "Yeah."

There had to be more. He _needed_ more. "Sure?"

"I'm just... thinking about a lot of things. Sometimes the… spotlight we put on ourselves is so bright we need someone else to tell us what's under our noses."

"Well, I know a little about self-doubt myself," he said quietly, and probably only because the lights were out and she seemed so close, and this felt so very private and intimate.

"Not about your ability to do your job."

"Definitely about my ability to do my job," he countered. "For at least the last six years. Being repeatedly shown up and undermined and publicly mocked doesn't help, either."

She made a sound—dear God, a sniffle? Was that for _him_?—and took a deep breath. "I am so sorry for anything I did—or didn't do—which made that worse."

"Oh, _hell_ no. Don't think that. God, woman, you're the only reason I—" Haven't transferred out away from him. Haven't shot him. Haven't shot myself.

The next sound was unmistakably Juliet blowing her nose.

"Carlton," she said softly. "Thank you. For that, and for answering the text, and for calling me, and for everything."

"You have nothing to thank me for. But…"

"Yes?"

He hesitated, looking toward the window, through which he could see the night sky and a sliver of moon. "Keep in touch while you're away, okay?"

Her smile was almost palpable; it was in her voice as she said, "I will. Every day. I promise."

"You don't have to promise," he said gruffly.

"But I am." She blew her nose again, but her tone remained light. "I have to make sure you don't give my job away."

"I'll pierce my nose before that happens, O'Hara."

The sound of her laughter was so damned nice that after she said goodnight, he lay smiling at the ceiling for a few moments simply glad to have heard it, let alone caused it.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Karen poured coffee into her mug Friday morning, thinking about meetings with the mayor and the press and various other police officials, about more problematic issues than she wished to have to deal with. When Shawn Spencer loped down the main hall, her first thought was _oh I really don't have time for him_, her second thought was _but that's okay, since he's aiming for Lassiter_, and then _if I stand _just so_ behind this column, they might not notice me_.

She didn't normally hide from trouble, but Shawn could be very… draining.

"Detective Lassiter," Shawn said with dramatic formality.

"Spencer." He didn't even look up from his computer screen.

Shawn hovered restlessly for a few moments, not saying anything.

From where she stood, Karen could see the annoyance in Lassiter's vivid blue eyes when he turned to Shawn and said, "Either sit or stand. Don't waft."

"Wafting. That's new. Fine, I'll sit."

"Stop talking about sitting, and sit. What do you want?"

Shawn's body language, even ostensibly 'relaxed' in the chair, said he was uncertain, uneasy, agitated. "Jules. Have you heard from her?"

Lassiter looked fully at him again, the blue sharpening to ice. "You still don't have any idea what you did to make her leave?"

"Dude, I have _no_ idea. None. You're the last person I'd expect to admit that to, but there it is. I'm at a loss. I haven't heard from her since last Friday—a full week. Nothing."

Karen watched him with as much interest as Lassiter was showing.

But Shawn went on slowly, "I'm sensing, however, that _you've_ heard from her."

Lassiter met his gaze evenly. "Yes."

"Well what the hell? Why didn't you say something?"

"She asked me not to," he said simply, and Karen thought, _bless you for honoring her request, and shame on me for doubting you would._

"What? Why? Where is she?" He was more agitated. "I cannot _believe_ you would keep this from me."

Leaning in closer, Lassiter said flatly, "My loyalty is to my partner, not to you."

Shawn was quiet, but only for a second. "Where is she?"

"I don't know."

"The hell," Shawn retorted. "If you've been in touch with her, then—"

"Spencer, I _don't_ know where she is. I haven't asked, and I won't. If she wanted me—or you—to know, she'd have said so."

"You can't expect me to think you haven't run her credit cards."

Karen's _professional_ ears started listening more closely.

But her head detective did not disappoint. "That's not only against all department protocol, Spencer, but it would also be an invasion of O'Hara's privacy, and as I've already said, my loyalty is to her." He stood up abruptly, anger in his features. "I don't know what you did to screw things up but you'd better figure it out fast."

She remembered her realization of his feelings for Juliet, and read _his_ body language as being more personally irate than professionally so. Still, he didn't cross any lines or let his guard down. Master of self-control, was Carlton Lassiter.

Shawn got up too, suddenly conciliatory in a way which surprised her. "Look, I'm just concerned. I know you can understand that. Is she all right? Has she said…" He stopped. "Just tell me she's all right."

Lassiter just looked at him for a moment. "I really don't know that either, Spencer."

"When did you…" Another pause. "If you hear from her again, please ask her to call me."

"Before or after you try to hack into her financial records yourself?" Lassiter asked dryly.

Shawn grinned. "As if I would ever do that."

She rolled her eyes, and sipped coffee calmly while Lassiter advanced on Spencer, steel comprising every inch of his lean frame.

"Don't. Just leave her alone. When she wants to talk to you, she will. Hell, you don't even know what you did but you're prepared to make it ten times worse? Asshat."

Shawn retorted, "Why are you so sure I did anything at all? I'm telling you, I was here last Friday after the whole Harrison Yerden thing ended. You saw us; we were right here at your desk. Everything was fine. It's entirely possible _you're_ the one who pissed her off, Lassie; in fact it's statistically the most likely scenario. I'm the beloved boyfriend. You're just the cranky, grumpy—"

"Mr. Spencer," Karen said sharply, coming out from behind the column. "May I help you with something?" She cast a quick glance at the simmering Irishman, judged he wasn't going for his weapon, and returned her attention to Shawn. "I wasn't under the impression Psych had been hired for any cases this week."

Shawn glared at Lassiter anyway, and then put on a fake smile for her. "Just checking in, Chief. I don't suppose you have any idea where my girlfriend is?"

"If by _girlfriend_ you mean my Detective O'Hara—since your personal relationship should be irrelevant when you're on _my _turf, Mr. Spencer—the answer is no." She took another sip of her coffee. "But frankly, I might not tell you even if I did know. Will there be anything else?"

He looked at her with clear frustration in his eyes. "No, Chief. I suppose not." He glanced balefully at Lassiter before he left.

When he was out of earshot, Lassiter muttered, "I know you didn't do that for me, but thank you."

"I kind of _did_ do it for you, Detective. And O'Hara." She smiled. "Sometimes my job has an up side."

He half-smiled. "Yeah. But in case you were wondering, I don't want your job as much as I used to."

Karen laughed. "I don't blame you." She started to leave him, but an impulse made her stop. "How is O'Hara?"

He tensed, but she knew he would answer honestly, and not just because she'd run Spencer off. "I don't really know. She's been in touch but hasn't said where she is or why she took off. Something's on her mind, but she's keeping it to herself."

_And something's on your mind too,_ she thought, _or maybe your heart_, but didn't push. He'd push himself enough without her help.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Juliet was glad she'd talked to Carlton last night. She knew he would never lie to her—he might fudge, because he did care about her; she knew he did—but the essence of anything he told her would be true.

Thinking about it as dispassionately as possible, she supposed the same could be said for Shawn. The _kernel_ of his words was true. But the sentences those words formed were suspect from start to finish. It was as if he _wanted_ to be mistrusted, _wanted_ to be thought of as unreliable.

Of course, it all played up to the 'mysterious psychic' vibe he tried to maintain.

She was done helping maintain that vibe. _Done_.

Legs tucked up under her on the glider as the sun set over the trees, she held on to her teacup with one hand and her phone with the other.

Did she just want an excuse to talk about Shawn? Or… was Shawn her excuse for talking to Carlton?

Carlton. The last person, she thought with a smile, anyone would think of as a confidant, or the go-to guy if you needed comfort. But he'd been both for her in the past, and she knew without a doubt he would be there for her again if she asked.

Plus, he would like this place. It was hard for most people to believe the buttoned-down, coffee-swilling, fast-moving detective would be at peace in a setting like this, far removed from city life, but those people hadn't sat in a car with him during long stakeouts, listening as he described fishing trips, trips she suspected he took as much for the solitude as for the fish.

And he _knew_ the mountains, the terrain; he spoke proudly of survival skills but he also spoke with bemusement, and contentment, of the peacefulness he found in the wilderness, and how he wished for more opportunities to get away.

He was not the man most people _saw_. She knew her knowledge of him was deeper and richer, and she was grateful for what he shared with her.

She put the teacup down.

_It's Friday night. Am I interrupting your moves on the ladies?_

_If you mean the two plants by the kitchen window, Stella and Blanche, yeah._

She laughed out loud. _Would you like me to leave you three alone?_

_No. They're both mad at me anyway. No chance of action tonight._

Juliet was already happier than she'd been all day. _Sorry. Plants can be real heart-breakers_.

_(Call me,_ she was thinking. _Call me. Let me be the coward one more time.)_

_I'm still not over the cactus affair. Damn, she was prickly._

She was laughing again, her eyes inexplicably misty.

_Carlton. Thank you for last night._

Silence. The chirp took longer than she wanted.

_He's been asking about you. _

A catch in her throat. Painful. _I know you won't tell him anything._

_Even if I had something to tell, I wouldn't. And I hate like hell to say this, but you should get in touch._

She read it over and over again.

He sent another one: _Even_ _if it's just to say you won't be getting in touch._

"You are so strong," she whispered, "not asking me any questions."

_Juliet._

_I'm sorry to push._

She wiped her eyes and called him. "You're not pushing," she said as soon as he answered. "You're right."

He let out a breath. "I don't want to be right. I just want…"

"You shouldn't be in the middle."

"No, it's not that. I don't mind. Hell, I'll be a barrier as long as you want. But it might be easier for you if you just… I don't know. A text. A voicemail at eight in the morning, hours before he wakes up."

She couldn't help but smile a little. "I could do that."

"Okay," he said quietly.

"I'm not ready to talk to him, Carlton."

"I know. And it's not my business, but I'll have your back no matter what you decide."

"I know you will," she said with a sigh. "That's the one thing I'm absolutely sure of, every day. I know you have my back."

She wanted to tell him everything. She needed to. But not yet. She wasn't finished being angry and hurt and upset and she couldn't be those things when she talked to Carlton about this, because he would be angry on her behalf and he might not be really able to _listen_.

"I know you have mine." His voice was so gentle.

Juliet took a moment to settle herself. Sip of cooling tea. "It's lovely here. You would like it."

"Tell me about it."

"Not yet. Please understand."

"I do. I'm happy to hear from you at all, Juliet. You can keep your whereabouts a secret as long as you like."

Her fingers were shaking, and she had to put the cup down again. "You'll be the first person I tell, Carlton. You're already the only person I _want_ to tell."

His intake of breath was sharp, and she imagined his blue eyes were wide. "Take as long as you like."

A little voice said it wouldn't be very long at all.

**. . . .**

**. . .**


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

**. . . .**

_(Spoilers for S6 Indiana Shawn herein)_

**. . .**

Henry stepped out of the convenience store about five seconds before Carlton Lassiter jogged into view, and he called out his name loudly.

Lassiter's dark head jerked around, and when he saw Henry, he slowed but didn't stop. "Spencer!" he called back.

"Hold up a minute!" Henry caught up at the corner, where Lassiter did stop, hands on his hips, breathing hard, but for damn sure not as hard as Henry would have been.

"What?"

Like that, was it? Henry knew when a man didn't trust him, and although Lassiter wasn't normally a trusting guy anyway, the narrowing of his eyes said today he trusted him even less. "I'll get to the point."

"Please do." One dark eyebrow was up. "I still have two miles to go."

"O'Hara."

Lassiter met his gaze but remained silent.

"Come on, Lassiter. I don't like to step in to my boy's business, but if you know where she is, or if you know anything about why she left, you need to drop him a clue. Just one." _To get him off my back_. Henry was sure Shawn _had_ caused whatever problem there was, not just because he knew his son, but because he'd also gotten to know Juliet pretty well over the last few years and she was not the excitable type. She wouldn't be gone without a damned good reason, and Shawn having screwed up somehow was a damned good reason. Damned likely, too.

But Lassiter was clearly unmoved by Henry's internal dialogue. "I don't know where she is, and I don't know why she left."

Henry eyed him. "You have a theory, though."

"I'm sure you do too, and we both know theories are worthless when it comes to women."

"I hear that. But listen, man—"

"No, _you_ listen. I'll tell you what I told him: my loyalty is to O'Hara."

Henry sighed. "Yeah, I know how it is. The bond between partners is unlike any other. It's stronger and deeper and more pervasive than most marriages. It can be everything." He stared at Lassiter, trying to say without words _I know you have feelings for her_. "But sometimes lines get crossed, without anybody intending it. And when you put someone like you up against someone like Shawn, over a woman like Juliet O'Hara, well, I imagine it's hard to even see the lines."

Lassiter was still, his breathing already even, and his eyes a distinctly glacial blue.

Henry pressed on. "So all I'm asking is this… are you absolutely sure your silence is loyalty to her? Or could you maybe, just maybe, be protecting your own interests?"

He had time to think _that's the expression he uses to get perps to confess in under sixty seconds_ before Lassiter spoke.

Coldly.

"That was a very good speech, Henry, and even a valid question. Or it would be, if I were hiding anything. However, I think what you and your _boy_ need to consider is that maybe the reason O'Hara didn't tell me where she went is that she knew you two would be tag-teaming me for answers. Maybe she didn't want to put me in a position where I could be 'read' by either one of the Spencers."

_Damned good detective… bastard._

"So for the last time, and by God, this really is the last time, I _don't_ know where she is. And I _don't_ know why she left." Lassiter nodded and resumed his jog, and Henry shook his head and wondered what in the hell Shawn had done.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

It was Sunday morning, and Lassiter lay on his sofa contemplating going into the police station for awhile. There was always paperwork, and it might take his mind off Juliet. (Yeah, right.)

She'd texted him a few times yesterday, little pleasantries, nothing of substance, but it had felt pretty personal. He hoped it wasn't just his ego which thought it significant that he was the only one she seemed to be talking to. He hoped that when she came back to town, this sensation of a new closeness between them wouldn't evaporate like dew on a warming day.

He didn't tell her about Henry's Saturday morning attempt at an inquisition, and he didn't ask whether she'd contacted Shawn. He was holding to his promise—to himself if not to her—to mind his own business until she saw fit to share her troubles with him.

The phone buzzed, and he cursed himself for hoping it was her, but when it was, he cursed himself for being so pleased. One thing he could always do was find something to curse himself over.

_Don't go into the station today. And if you're already there, go home!_

_Am I that predictable? _Of course he was_._

_Yes, Carlton. But it's Sunday. Day of rest. No workie for you. _

Another day of alone, so far as he could tell. _O'Hara,_ _there's crime to be solved._

_You don't have to solve them all personally. Take a walk with me instead._

He smiled. _Where are we going?_

_I'll walk where I am; you walk in your neighborhood. I'll tell you what I see. You tell me what you see._

_You already know what I see. Crime waiting to happen!_

_Stop stalling. Get off the sofa and put your walkin' shoes on._

He obeyed, but stopped between shoes to send: _Any chance I'll run into you out there?_

Pause._ Sorry, no. It'd be nice, though._

Yeah, it would be damned nice. He'd love to see her sunny smile, her golden hair.

It took a minute to exit the apartment because she sent another text while he was retrieving his gun: _Do not, I repeat, do not take your gun. _

_You are going to be so sorry when that teenager down the street tries to knife me._

_Carlton, no one is going to try to knife you. You are Tough Man Walking. Leave the Glock at home_.

He laughed. Tough _marshmallow_, maybe; he put the gun away.

It was a beautiful green and glorious spring day, and in his usual frame of mind he might not have noticed, but today, with Juliet's words on the cell screen, he saw more. More blooms, more green; more sunshine. Cool breezes, faint flower scents in the air. Smiles from strangers which _didn't_ make him suspicious. Blind corners which only filled him with _partial_ certainty someone was about to jump him.

He told her these things and she laughed—he could almost hear it in his head—and told him he was silly but in a way which somehow seemed like a compliment.

Juliet's texts described winding paths through a sprawling landscaped garden, with tall trees in the distance; he figured she was up in the mountains somewhere, and the landscaping suggested a resort.

He could find her if he tried, but he wouldn't try. He didn't want to destroy her trust in him. It had always been important, but now it was just about the only thing which mattered.

She directed him to the park near his place, and he found an unoccupied bench, stretching out his long legs, relaxing. A squirrel scampered up a tree nearby, and surprisingly, he didn't feel like hunting it. Damn, Juliet _was_ having a crazy effect on him.

_I'm going to head back, but stay with me a while?_

_As long as you like. Especially since you won't let me go to work._

_Don't go to work. Even Carlton Lassiter deserves a day off now and then. Besides, I'd like to keep talking to you, if you don't mind._

He sighed. _I've never minded that._

_You make me laugh. I KNOW you've minded a few times over the years when I was jabbering at you in the car_.

_Yeah, but over time, I grew to appreciate your jabbering. As well as having you listen to my jabbering in return._

He'd grown to love listening to her and having her listen to him, even if she was scolding (and he always had it coming). She'd talked to him like he was a normal person, one who mattered to her.

_I'm glad. Because I hope we can go on jabbering at each other for years to come, partner._

_That is one hundred percent fine by me. _

Oh, she had no idea.

He _felt_ she was smiling, though it was nuts to think so. He was certainly smiling, and feeling warm in a way unrelated to the sunshine.

_Good. :-) I'm back at the cabin. Shall I describe it?_

_Please do._

_You're writing everything down for clues, aren't you?_

_I have a mind like a steel trap, O'Hara. Who needs to write things down?_

_Touche! OK, I'm in the main room. It looks out over the trees and hills. There's a deck, with some really comfortable patio furniture._

_Wood or plastic?_

_Wood and wrought iron. With cushions, no less. This isn't some pay-by-the-hour flea trap, Carlton._

He grinned. _My mistake! I know you're a classy dame._

_Hell yeah I am. And btw, nothing says classy quite like the word "dame."_

He laughed, and read on while she described the green and blue color scheme of the main room and dining area. It sounded both rustic and elegant, with rich wood and an abundance of comfortable seating, plus a fireplace.

_You probably make the place look better just standing there, O'Hara. _That wasn't too forward, was it?

_Thanks. You probably make the *park* look better, Blue Eyes._

Hmmm, guess it _wasn't_ too forward. He was willing the blush back from his cheeks when she went on.

_There's two bedrooms. Should I describe mine?_

Hmm, interesting goosebumps. _Is that going to be useful information from an investigatory point of view?_

Pause on her part. _It might be if I were hiding in there while you were looking for me_.

_With finding you as my goal, I believe I would look anywhere._ He hit send before considering the ramifications.

Long, long pause. He'd screwed up. Oh, crap.

_If I knew YOU were looking, I'd stay in plain sight. _

He swallowed.

She added: _Probably in the middle of the bed so you could find me faster._

He swallowed again, his face hot. _That's a very leading remark, Juliet._

_Yeah, it is. _

Then:

_So follow._

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Juliet stared at her phone, not really believing she'd sent the texts, and yet, somehow, absolutely unable to regret doing it.

Girl, don't screw around with this man. He's more fragile than anyone knows, and you have too much else to resolve first.

But… but Carlton was… he was so real. So… _there_. So…

Her screen lit up at last.

_I will._

She smiled—laughed—tears in her eyes.

_Still, I think you have some other things going on._

_I do_, she texted back. _It just felt right to say it to you. It felt honest. It is honest_.

She wanted to hear his voice, but this, surprisingly, was not the time for talk.

_It felt right to read it. Scary too, but I'm too macho to admit that. *ahem* Moving on to the kitchen?_

_Yes, please._ She described the modern facilities and the front porch and wound up on the back deck in the sunshine, and after awhile of less intense back and forth banter, her cell battery started to go, and so did his.

_Recharge time_, he sent. _Thanks for the walk, and the tour._

_It was better than going to work, wasn't it?_

_Hell yeah. Thousand times. And not just because of the incident in the bedroom._

She loved that he could joke, even if it was only screen to screen.

_When you come up to see me, I'll give you a more personal tour._

She held her breath. She did. How the hell would he answer that?

Perfectly, as it turned out: _When I come up to see you, I probably won't be looking at the décor._

Her heart was pounding. This was the single most terrifying conversation of her life, and she loved it.

_Good. So very good. Thanks for spending the morning with me, Carlton._

_Thanks for wanting to spend it with me. I'm not usually anyone's first choice._

Her heart twinged a little. _They don't know what they're missing_.

_Or maybe you're delusional, O'Hara. I haven't ruled that out._

_Very funny, Detective. But I don't think so. I think I just have inside info about the man behind the legend._

_Legend my ass. Reputation, maybe. Not really the same thing._

_Oh, stop. Just accept that I miss you. I was thinking only of myself_ _when I left but now I see how much I just… miss… you_.

Pause.

Pause.

Pause.

_I miss you too, Juliet_. _Tremendously_.

Her heart was doing a flippy thing and she hadn't thought about Shawn in hours.

_:-) But the battery says it's time._

_Tomorrow_, he sent.

_Yes_.

Yes.

. . . .

. . .

Early Monday morning, Juliet opened her laptop and typed out the email she'd composed in her head during the night. She read it several times before clicking the 'send' button, but there was no hesitation or uncertainty about either her decision or her wording. Doing this in person would be better, but she regarded this as a stop along the way to the end.

_Shawn,_

_Please don't bother responding to this message, because I won't answer it. I'm not ready to talk to you yet. Honestly I'm not sure I'll ever be ready to talk to you, even after I finally get back to Santa Barbara. _

_But I will tell you these things so you can stop wondering, since I don't know when I'm coming back and it's not fair to keep you hanging._

_1. Our relationship is over. I don't regret our time together _at all_, but it's over._

_2. I know Pierre Desperaux is alive and you helped cover it up. I know he also stole one of Yerden's paintings, and you covered that up, too. _

_3. I know you've been lying—to everyone—about being psychic all these years. I can only assume Gus and your father have been lying as well. You are lucky to have their support, but I can't give you mine any more._

_I'm done being lied to, which means I'm done with you. But I wish you well, Shawn, and always will._

_Goodbye._

**. . . .**

**. . .**


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE**

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Lassiter's cell rang mid-morning as he was heading out to the Crown Vic to go talk to a man who was convinced his branch library was hosting meetings of Canadian bacon smugglers. He could have sent McNab, but truthfully, he needed the break from his own thoughts, so a whackjob interview might be just the ticket.

When he glanced at the phone's screen, he was surprised—pleased—uncertain—to see it was Juliet.

Yesterday's unexpected flirtations had left him jazzed throughout the night and he knew—reluctantly—they needed to back off from whatever the hell _that_ was until whatever the hell was going on with Spencer was resolved. However, he hadn't decided how to tell her without sounding like an arrogant, presumptive, condescending, completely-unworthy-of-her jerk.

"Hey," he said. "I didn't expect to—"

"Carlton," she interrupted, obviously upset. "Carlton, I need a favor. A crazy favor and I don't see how you can possibly do it but please, please for me, just—"

"Juliet, settle down. Of course I'll do whatever needs doing. What's wrong?" He slid into the Vic, pulling the door closed behind him.

"Where are you? Are you in the middle of a case? I'm so sorry, but I just had to get to you right away and I—"

He stopped her again. "Juliet. I'm in the car. It's okay. I'm alone and I don't have to rush anywhere. I'm only supposed to go talk to a wingnut. It's not urgent."

She half-laughed, half-sobbed, and he urged her to take a few deep breaths and start slow. "Okay. Okay. I contacted Shawn this morning. Like you suggested; I sent it so early there's no way he'd be awake. And I told him what was wrong, but Carlton, I want you to hear it from me, not him. I need you to promise you won't listen to anything from anyone about what I emailed him until I can tell you myself. I know that's crazy because you can't help what you hear and you can't help what people tell you but please, oh, please, I just need to be the one who tells you." She drew in a hitching breath, and his heart ached for her.

"Okay," he said quietly, "stop worrying. I'll do that."

He was thinking, _damn you Spencer, and I don't even know what you did_.

Damn Spencer as well for making Juliet worry he wouldn't keep their problem private, because she was right—he'd tell Gus, he'd tell Henry; he'd blab it all over the place himself if Gus didn't do it for him.

She was quiet.

"Juliet?"

Another long breath. "I know. It's wrong of me."

"No, it's not."

"I'm asking for something impossible. I'm selfish. I was a coward to email him anyway, but I knew I'd never be able to stay calm if I tried to tell him in person and I didn't want him to have to wait any longer and I didn't want him bugging you anymore and I'm stupid."

"You are no such thing," he said, a little irritated. "Don't let Spencer do this to you. Whatever happened, you're not to blame for how it _affects_ you. Besides, you know I never listen to him when you're not around to force me."

Juliet laughed a little, and sighed deeply. "I'm sorry."

"Stop that, O'Hara. I mean it."

"Hang on," she said, and blew her nose. "I panicked after I sent the email. I've been kind of a basket case, I was so worried about you."

"_Me_?"

"You're going to want to kill him," she said, so quietly he almost didn't catch it.

He counted to four. "Juliet. Did he hurt you physically? Because yeah, I _will_ kill the son of a bitch."

"No, Carlton. No. He never did, and he never would." Her voice was steady. "And I would never protect him if he had. You know that."

He did know. She'd kick Spencer's ass herself before anyone else even knew there was a problem. "All right. But stop worrying, and tell me what you need to tell me."

"I can't do it over the phone. It has to be face-to-face."

"You tell me which way to point the car and I'll come right this minute, O'Hara, wingnut be damned."

She laughed again, one of those half-sobbing laughs, and whispered, "I know you would, Carlton. Oh, God, I know you would. But I'm not ready. Obviously I'm a mess right now and I need a clear head so I can help you keep a clear head, too." She hesitated. "Will you come up on Saturday?"

"Yes." Of course. _Hell_ yeah. "But that's so far away."

"It's close enough, and I'm going to need the time to get back to sanity."

He couldn't help it; he said what he was thinking. "I ought to go haul his sorry ass out of bed right now and kick it from here to—"

"Stop, please. It's not like that. I don't want that." Her tone took on a brief grimness. "And if I did, I'd want to do it myself."

Lassiter ran a hand through his hair, restless and needing to pound on something.

"Carlton," she said, more softly. "I'm so sorry to put you through this for me. I promise I will tell you everything, in detail, full-out honesty, when you get here Saturday."

"You going to tell me where 'here' is at some point?" He'd sworn he wouldn't ask, but it seemed moot now.

"I will. And thank you, so much. You have no idea." She let out another huge sigh. "I already feel less crazy, and I owe that to you."

"O'Hara, you don't owe me a damn thing that you haven't paid back a hundredfold just by being my partner all these years." He swallowed. "My best friend."

"Oh," she whispered. He heard her sniffling, and God, if he could have climbed through the phone to get to her… "Maybe you could come Friday instead of Saturday."

So that's what the Grinch felt when his heart grew two sizes, he thought somewhat dazedly. "I'll come up whenever you let me."

"Friday," she said with more confidence. "And I'll talk to you tonight, okay? I think you have a wingnut waiting."

_Oh, but_ _I _am_ a wingnut. A happy damned wingnut._

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Henry held the ring up to the light. Beautiful, delicate, silver and blue. His mother had loved it and would have loved the idea of her grandson's fiancée wearing it. She wouldn't have been quite so keen on her grandson stealing it from Henry, but there you go.

"You proposed?"

Shawn was gray-faced. "No. I… wanted to have it just in case she expected me to. I'm not ready for marriage, Dad, you know that. Not even to Jules. Not any time soon." He added dismally, "And now not ever, I guess."

Henry reviewed in his mind what Shawn had said of Juliet's email. Shawn had come over at one, distraught, and yet with a curious edge of calm suggesting he'd known this day was coming and wasn't even that surprised.

"I can't believe she did it in an email," he muttered.

"I can't believe you do most of the things you do, Shawn, and you're griping about Juliet being human? Sounds like she was cutting you some slack. She could have made you wait a few more weeks, going crazy about why she was gone, and then hit you upside the head when she came home."

Shawn put his head in his hands, sighing.

"You want to tell me about Desperaux?"

"No."

Henry shrugged. "Just as well. Plausible deniability for me. So what now?"

"You tell me, Dad. I don't know."

Slipping the ring into his shirt pocket, Henry put his legs up on the sofa, surveying his son. "Are you asking about your broken heart, or are you asking about the rest of the email?"

A hollow laugh. "I don't know that either. What are you going to say, anyway? I should pick myself up and go on?"

"I could say that, but it's different this time, isn't it?"

Shawn looked at him, uncertain.

"In the past, you've had the luxury of being able to walk away from whatever mess you found yourself in. This time, there's a lot more at stake, and I'm not just talking about your heart, son. I'm talking about Psych and Gus. Your livelihood. Mine. We've covered for you—by choice," he clarified, when Shawn started to protest. "But we've covered for you. You go down, we all go down. I don't think Karen Vick's going to look so kindly upon me once she figures out I've been part of the Big Dupe, you big dope."

"Way to cheer me up, Dad."

"Hey. I made you what you are, so I get to be what _I_ am: a pragmatic hardass. Now think. How did Juliet find out?"

"I don't know. I mean, I really… I have no idea." He rubbed his face. "I've been thinking about it all day."

Henry glanced at the clock.

Shawn amended, "Okay, in the two hours I've been awake."

"Talked to Gus yet?"

"No. He's gonna freak."

"Is it possible Juliet found out from him?"

"No way. Besides, he can't keep a secret from me longer than a few hours and it's been over a week. I'd have been able to get it out of him in no time."

Henry pursed his lips. "Ever think you might be just a little too invasive, Shawn?"

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Whatever, Dad. You cursed me to be observant. I observe."

"I didn't curse you. I _taught_ you."

"I feel cursed." He flopped back on the cushions, sighing. "I'm not getting her back, am I? I can't make this right."

Henry sighed too. "Probably not, son. This is one I don't think even the great Shawn SpenStar can fix."

**. . . .**

**. . .**

"_Gus! Desperaux took one of Yerden's paintings!" _

_Gus frowned. "You must be out of your damned mind, Shawn."_

"_No, no! He did!" Shawn was almost gleeful._

"_But that's impossible. We all left at the same time, and the police were like three seconds away from catching us there."_

"_I don't know how he did it, buddy, but he did!" He hopped up and down a little until Gus grabbed his arm. _

"_Knock it off. You don't need any more attention than you already get."_

_Shawn was oblivious. "This is just so cool! I mean, I thought faking his own death was the bomb, but this just adds to the super-awesome ice-cold coolness that is Pierre 'Prince of Cool' Desperaux."_

_Gus shook his head, still frowning. "How'd you find out about the painting?"_

"_Lassie and Jules told me. That is, they said there were five, and I thought they were wrong because I knew it was six, but they said five."_

_Gus' eyes got big. "You told them there were six?"_

_Shawn hesitated. "Well, I told them I made a mistake."_

"_You don't make mistakes like that, Shawn. You're supposed to be psychic, remember?"_

"_Relax, Gushimi-san. You know I sometimes have to remind them the spirits are fickle."_

_He was skeptical. "One of these days they're going to figure out the spirits are fake, too, you know, and then your ass goes to jail and my ass runs to Canada."_

"_Don't be the squashed loaf of bread at the bottom of the sack on New Bag Boy day, Gus. They're never going to find out. Well, I guess I have to tell Jules sometime. But that's a long way off. Anyway, you know Canada doesn't have black people."_

"_Shawn!" Gus punched him in the arm and stalked off, and Shawn hurried after him, holding his arm and pouting._

. . . .

. . .

The curving path to her cabin was well-lit and the air was scented with spring flowers. It was endlessly peaceful, and Juliet walked back slowly from the resort restaurant, remembering the conversation she'd witnessed that last day.

Her morning anxiety had faded somewhat. She knew Carlton would honor her ridiculous and unfair request—there was no doubt in her mind—and she knew she was right to wait a few more days before telling him what she'd overheard. What had driven her away from Santa Barbara.

She wanted to see him. It was curious to realize how important he had not _become_… but had _always_ been.

But she also understood she was still in turmoil, and relying on anyone other than herself to work through it all was a mistake, as well as unfair. If she had feelings for Carlton (and she knew she did, and she knew they were real), she had to be absolutely sure they were _separate_ from the aftermath of her relationship with Shawn. There couldn't be any question in either of their minds that if they had anything at all, it stood on its own.

When she texted him later from the back deck, underneath the twinkling stars, she started out with "Thanks," moved on to "I miss you," and couldn't help but smile when her screen lit up with the words: _Then_ _why are you making me wait until Friday?_

**. . . .**

**. . .**


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER SIX**

**. . . .**

**. . .**

(If Lawson227 and Dragonmactir can do interlude-y chapters, so can I!)

**. . . .**

**. . .**

**. .**

_I miss you._

Then why are you making me wait until Friday?

_Because it would be too confusing._

How can it be any more confusing?

_I'm somehow sure it will be. I'm sorry, Carlton. You know I'm not normally this crazy._

You're not crazy NOW. But you being so far away is getting to me.

_It's getting to me, too, and maybe that's part of the crazy._

**.**

**.**

**.**

Maybe I shouldn't come up at all. Maybe I'm just going to make it worse for you.

_No. It would be worse if I couldn't see you. I need to see you._

**.**

**.**

**.**

Juliet, am I really reading this right? Am I feeling this right?

**.**

**.**

**.**

:-)_ Now you understand the crazy part, because you are._

_Feeling this right, that is. If you're feeling it the way I'm feeling it._

_**.**_

**.**

I was feeling it long before this week.

But there's no reason you should be feeling anything for me or about me given everything else on your mind.

_Carlton, there are plenty of reasons. And I know we're both dancing around this, in TEXTS, because we're both terrified. I'm terrified, anyway._

Hell, I'm in cardiac arrest.

:-) :-) _And you know, sometimes chaos reveals as much as it conceals. I've had you in a kind of mental, heart-al compartment for a long time. But when you texted me Weds. you burst out of the compartment._

Never did like being cooped up.

_I care about Shawn and I guess I always will. But Carlton, the truth is, I cared about you first. And I'll care about you for the rest of my life in a way no one else will ever be able to touch._

_No matter what._

**.**

**.**

**.**

You might reconcile with him.

_No. _

He's persuasive. That's how he's gotten this far.

_Then YOU date him, Carlton, because it won't be me, ever again. Ideally, we'll be friendly. But nothing more._

**.**

**.**

**.**

It's too early to be so sure.

_When you've heard my story, you won't think that_.

Dammit, Juliet.

_I'm sorry. I'm sorry. God, I'm such an idiot._

**.**

**.**

**.**

"Stop saying that. I don't want to hear you talk about yourself that way. You're the smartest, nicest, kindest and definitely the most beautiful person I've ever known, and you are nobody's idiot."

"But I _am_ sorry. I know you must feel like I'm leading you on or being mysterious but I promise, I don't mean to, and I'm—"

"Juliet," he sighed. "It's okay. I'm sorry that I'm putting pressure on you."

"I've put you in an impossible situation. You're _entitled_ to put a little pressure on me."

"I don't want to be like that," he said honestly. "Who knows better than I do that pushy doesn't work in personal relationships?"

She was silent a moment. Then, softly, "This one will be different."

He was silent a moment, too, and almost wished he hadn't called her, because the phone couldn't hide as much fear as a text could. "Because?"

"Because…" She hesitated, but only a moment. "Because we're _already_ together, Carlton. We've been together for years. What we're… avoiding saying right out is just a wonderful new layer to the strongest, best relationship I've ever had."

He listened to these words from the woman he'd loved so long, but he couldn't manage any of his own. His heart's pounding would drown him out anyway.

"Yeah," she went on, "the timing sucks. But a lot of things suck and still work out for the best, don't they?"

"It's not just the timing," he muttered. "I kind of suck, too."

"And if you said that to my face it'd be hard for me not to slap you," she said defiantly.

"That's my girl."

"Yeah, I am. I am now. I kinda think maybe I always was."

He just breathed for a bit, and the silence on her side was somehow… warm. "Okay. You left town just over a week ago because of something Spencer did, and somehow we end up talking about… an us."

"Pretty much." She almost sounded cheerful. "I know. It _is_ crazy. But we're not two people who just met. We're not even _just_ co-workers. We're…"

"… going to see where it goes," he supplied after her pause, knowing that for him, where it went was to the end of forever, and he wouldn't need any pot of gold as long as he had _her_.

"Yes."

"After you tell me the big story on Friday."

"Yes."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah, O'Hara. If I live through the next three days."

"You will."

"And you're sure of this why exactly?"

"Because I need you," she said simply.

**. . . .**

**. . .**


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Lassiter noted a distinct absence of Spencers in the station over the next few days. Henry had unexpectedly asked for the week off, Vick told him, and she had no particular reason to say no or even ask him why; she assumed it was for one of his fishing trips.

But Lassiter had a feeling it was no coincidence. Whatever Shawn had done to Juliet, his father knew about it now, and if he was—well, it was ridiculous to use the phrase about _Henry Spencer_—running scared, then it was ten times more interesting to Lassiter as a result.

And because he was going nuts (pining, even) for Juliet, he was a little more restless than usual, and decided to poke the bear with a stick: he asked for Psych's help on a case.

He didn't need it, of course; his money was on the maid precisely because she _was_ so sweet, and oh yeah, because the prelim background check showed she'd worked for other wealthy men in Peru and Ecuador who'd died suddenly under mysterious circumstances.

But a second opinion never hurt, right?

_Stop smirking_, he could hear Juliet warning him, and made the phone call to Psych.

"Detective Lassiter," Gus said neutrally. "How may I be of assistance?"

"Need your help on a case. Vick made me call," he lied. "Because you know I normally wouldn't otherwise." _That_ was the truth… but he still smirked, _despite_ the internal warning from his partner.

There were muffled noises in the background, a combination of a half-hissed argument and the teacher-voice from the Charlie Brown cartoons. "Oh. Oh, well, that's really a shame, Lassiter, because we, um, we have the flu."

Lassiter grinned. "You have the flu?"

"Yes. Yes we do. Both of us." Gus coughed overly loudly into the phone.

"But you're at the office," he pointed out politely.

"Oh, I just stopped by for some cold medicine. Some soup. Some… thermometers. And, um, a blanket."

"Well-stocked office," he muttered. "So Spencer's down for the count? Because really, you sound all right, and this won't take long; you can probably swing by the station on your way home."

Was _strangled silence_ a concept? Because that's what _he_ heard.

"I don't think so. I'm really not very well at all, and Shawn is practically unconscious."

"That's a shame. Can I talk to him a minute?"

A background thud and a sharp "No," from Gus. "I'm afraid he's just passed out."

"Geez, Guster, maybe I should call an ambulance."

"No, that's not—oh, see, he's coming around already. Look, I should really go take care of him. Please extend our regrets to the Chief." Click.

Later, Lassiter realized he hadn't laughed that hard in a long time.

. . . .

. . .

Their texts and conversations had been careful dances and parries and explorations, he thought as he drove up into the mountains on Friday morning. Neither one had said anything more specific than what passed between them on Monday night, and that was probably wise. This visit, despite his overwhelming need to simply _see_ her, was not about _them_. It was about the story she had to tell, and despite how much he'd enjoyed tormenting Spencer and Guster, he knew for his Juliet to be so distraught, there would be no other humor involved.

She was staying in a resort they'd visited once on a case, and driving onto the vast property he remembered her appreciative comments at the time. It was pricey, she admitted, but she'd been putting back money toward a nice vacation and this seemed the right time to use it.

His pulse was racing, and when he saw her sitting on a stone bench outside the hotel, her golden hair lit by the sun, he was nearly done for.

She was more than beautiful to him. Beautiful wasn't even the right word. Pretty wasn't enough. Lovely was more like it. Radiant, lovely, perfect.

He parked the car with less than his usual precision and got out, hoping he could make it over to her without passing out.

Juliet stood up and smiled at him.

_Damn_.

"Hi," she said softly.

_I love you_, he answered silently.

She stepped into his arms and wrapped hers around his waist, sighing. Lassiter held her close and drank her in, and if nothing else happened the rest of the day, he would be just fine.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Juliet didn't often allow herself to simply admire her partner's physical presence, because whenever she did, rather interesting daydreams tended to follow. But with her arms wrapped around his lean body, and feeling his strong arms holding her tight, she understood anew how _complete_ her attraction to him was.

He put his hands in her hair; she loved how his warm fingers felt at the base of her neck, and she looked into those unbelievably blue eyes and knew he wanted to kiss her as well as she knew he wouldn't. Not yet.

She just hoped he could read the same thoughts in _her_ eyes.

"Come on," she said, and stepped back, but not too far. She reached for his hand and led him down the winding path to her cabin.

"Are you all right?" he asked when they were at the door. "I mean, really?"

On the job, he seldom asked her that, but when he did, he _really_ wanted to know, and this made her smile. "I am a funky mix of terrified and calm and upset and rational and insane and okay. You?"

He gave her a crooked grin. "Different reasons, same sensation. But I meant about why you came up here in the first place."

"I know. But the mishmash of feelings are the same." Inside the spacious cabin, she let him take a moment to check his surroundings, and offered him some iced tea, which she carried out to the back deck.

"We had a lot of conversations here this week," Carlton murmured, sitting on one end of the glider.

"Is the view how I described it?"

"Better, because I'm here _with_ you." Then he blushed, and she was enchanted. He gulped down half his tea, and with only a smile, she got up and brought the whole pitcher out.

Before sitting, she bent to kiss his cheek. "It's better because I'm here with _you_, too."

The look he gave her made her shiver a little.

First things first.

She sat close enough to take his hand firmly in hers. "What I want most today is for you to listen. I'm going to be selfish and say it's all about me and my feelings, because that really is the whole reason I came here. To deal with all that. And I need you, Carlton, like I never needed you before, to simply listen to my self-indulgent ramblings. Okay?"

"Even if I'm going to want to kill him?" he inquired dryly, one dark eyebrow up.

"Even if. And I suspect you will." She squeezed his hand and felt the satisfying return squeeze. "I know I've already been incredibly selfish just by asking you to come up here, to wait all week for this information. I know you must be frustrated with me."

"No. Not with you. With whatever upset you enough to drive you out of town." He turned slightly to face her, his direct blue gaze so very intent, and she knew there was no more time to waste.

It had started, she led off, when Shawn made his surprised remark about six Yerden paintings, and then backed away from the assertion. She'd been thinking a lot in the weeks prior about how often his 'divinations' were so incredibly, almost impossibly specific. Almost as if he'd seen the things he described with his _own_ eyes, not those of some vague spirit.

So she went after him that day to press him on it, and had come up behind him and Gus talking.

She held on to Carlton's hand tightly while she recounted the conversation.

His grip was like steel and so were his eyes. She could read his tension; hell, she could _feel_ it, and she wanted to stop talking and just soothe him but she couldn't stop now.

"I don't know how I made it through the rest of the day, but once I was home, I already knew I had to get away." She sighed, looking down at his strong hand, so firmly in her grasp. "I know you're trying not to break free and run back to Santa Barbara to arrest him but stay with me now, please."

Carlton let out a slow breath. "I am."

"I felt like this hit me everywhere. It hit my heart, and it hit my pride, and to top it all off, it went to work on my self-esteem as a detective too."

"Your text," he murmured. "Asking if you were a good cop."

"Yeah. I was upset I'd been so blind all this time. So willing to believe the lie. So quick to jump on a lead and stare admiringly as he pulled all this crap out of thin air. All those times you insisted we could handle a case ourselves and I thought it was because you didn't like him, but you were right, Carlton. You knew it was a con. But I fell for it so _completely_."

He sighed, and she sensed he was relaxing just a little bit. "He did solve cases."

"Yes, but he could have solved just as many without the lie. Without the drama. He could have saved a lot of time and none of us would have had to look like fools or apologize for his behavior." She shook her head, feeling the impatience rising again. "I know the lie started before he met me. I know it wasn't personal. But it _was_ personal, wasn't it? I can think of a few times when maybe he was about to tell me, but he never did. Was it because he was a coward or because he didn't want to ruin a good paying gig?"

Carlton shifted to face her directly and took her other hand. "There'll never be a clear answer to that."

"No, there won't. And then I got mad at myself for all the times I unwittingly helped him make _your_ life miserable. All the times I let you down because I thought you were just giving into your annoyance—and maybe you were, sometimes, but now I know the annoyance was fully warranted—all the times I let my _partner_ down." She blinked back tears. "You never let _me_ down. You stood with me when I screwed up with Tancana, you helped me with Scott, you saved me on the clock tower, you—"

"Stop," he said, reaching up to caress her cheek, and she turned to kiss his wrist, her anger abating at merely his touch. "_Partner_. You were being a good cop. You were played just like the rest of us and you're not allowed to take more responsibility for that than anyone else." He brushed her chin with his gentle fingers. "And come on, I wasn't exactly an inspiration. I slowed down a lot of investigations because I _was_ so determined not to let him in."

Juliet lowered her head, sighing, and he rubbed her shoulder warmly. "Okay, so you get the idea about my professional rage."

"Yeah. And yeah, I could still kill him. Easily." He smiled faintly. "Repeatedly."

She felt her own smile coming on, but there was more to tell. "It's funny, though, how all of that became what I was most upset about. It's like the _personal_ relationship just sort of faded into the background. I was upset my boyfriend lied to me, yes. I was upset to think his best friend was lying to me, too. And there's no way Henry wasn't part of it. Every time I started to think about how to end the relationship, I got distracted by issues that weren't even part of the relationship."

Carlton asked, his voice low, "_How_ to end it? Not whether?"

"How. I knew that before I even left town." She watched his eyes clear, and he relaxed yet a little bit more.

"For what it's worth," he said with a touch more of the Carlton she knew, "I'd lay money down on Henry being fully aware of what was going on." There was a grim set to his jaw and she knew she'd be asking him what he meant later.

"Yeah, well, that's a different problem. What occurred to me was that Shawn was delighted about Desperaux faking his own death. He was delighted that he stole the sixth Yerden painting. He obviously didn't help him _do_ either of those things, but he for damn sure covered it up, and what's left of the cop in me says there's no way he hasn't done this kind of thing before."

"There's plenty left of the cop in you, O'Hara." His tone brooked no argument. "I'll be calling on that cop to help me track down Desperaux. Again."

"I don't think so." She sighed, squeezing his hand. "It's selfish of me, and yeah, it's illegal, since I'm an officer of the law and I know he's alive, but let's put him aside for awhile, please." She looked at him, silent, until the last of his natural resistance faded, and he simply nodded. "Thank you," she whispered.

"So far you've gotten me to agree to not kill Spencer and not hunt down a known criminal." There was that crooked smile she liked so much. "I'm losing my grip."

"You most certainly are not, and I'm going to have the bruised hands to prove it."

"Oh, God, I'm sorry," he said at once, releasing her hands, horrified.

She immediately reclaimed his, because not touching him now was out of the question. "I wasn't complaining."

He was gentler all the same, his long fingers curving around hers warmly.

"The rest of the Me story is simple. Finding out my boyfriend had been lying, covering up crimes to suit his own sense of entertainment, making a mockery of the police, fooling me into being a substandard partner—hush, I'm just telling you how I felt—and oh yeah, probably breaking hundreds of other laws to find out what he supposedly 'divined,' not to mention stealing his best friend's credit card at every opportunity and breaking into our financial records out of sheer nosiness—well," she said more slowly, "it's been a process of discovery, as you can tell. And then there was Frank."

"Frank… your father?"

"Yeah. I… never really got over being hurt by Shawn pushing him at me." She looked out toward the green trees, feeling an ache. "I told myself he was prompted by a noble impulse, but I don't know. It didn't feel very noble when he was continually ignoring all my requests for him to leave it alone. It felt like he was just trying to make _himself_ feel good for having brought us back 'together.'"

"He was cruel," Carlton said quietly. "I could see how much he was hurting you."

"He was selfish," she corrected. "The cruelty was a byproduct." Letting go of him and leaning back, stretching her legs out, she breathed deeply and tried to let go of the mass of emotions by drinking in the sunshine.

Carlton got up and went to the railing, turning to lean against it, watching her. His blue eyes ever searching. She wondered what he really saw in her.

"So that's the bulk of it. I've been going over it in painful detail for nearly two weeks and what I knew instantly that day is still true. Every day I wake up, it's still true. I can't be with a man who's lied so long, to so many, no matter how many cases he closes. I can't be with a man who's very consistently undermined us and put our jobs on the line so many times. He's a decent guy; he has a good heart; he has Gus and Henry to protect him, and I know he never _set out_ to do any of it, let alone hurt me, but I can't imagine ever being able to get past this, Carlton. I can't imagine why I should have to."

"You don't," he said simply. "He has to face the consequences of his actions just like the rest of us do."

"Yes." She stood up too, because the really hard part was coming. "You've been so wonderful to me this week. So supportive and so understanding. But I think what I'm about to say is going to be the most difficult for you to hear."

He was still, and the ten feet between them felt like a mile. "Say it." Everything about his demeanor screamed out _this is going to hurt_, and her heart twisted because it wasn't like that at all.

"I don't want him arrested. I don't want him in jail. I don't even want him fired."

His abrupt change of tack was evident in his expression, but it didn't take more than a second for that unnameable fear to turn to active disbelief and not a little anger. "The hell? O'Hara, you—"

"It's not worth it," she overrode him. "You know it's not."

"Then what the hell's the point? He gets to screw around like this for years and walk? And keep doing it? That's not _right_, O'Hara. That's not—"

"I didn't say he should walk. I want to give him a choice. He can tell Chief Vick the truth, or he can close up Psych and move on. If I won't be lied to, I can't let her be lied to either." She held his steely gaze for long tense seconds and then added, "She can arrest him if she wants. That's her choice. But I won't let him work for the SBPD without coming clean to her. If she wants to let him operate as a merely very observant consultant, that's her choice too."

"I won't work with him again," Carlton said with finality.

"Neither will I. Not any time soon. But he's solved enough cases that I'm not prepared to be the one to shut the door on his abilities."

"What about Henry?"

"I know you want to punish someone," she said gently. "I don't blame you and I've struggled with it myself. But Henry's a good cop and he's done good work for us and he and Shawn, well, they… they punish each other enough. We don't need to get involved."

His hand was on the railing, and Juliet didn't miss how tightly he clenched it. He looked away from her, jaw set again, eyes obviously immune now to the beauty of the mountain before them. She knew how this sounded to him. Not just because it seemed wrong to let the years of deception go unpunished, but because it was _Shawn_. Shawn, who had enjoyed so many ways to poke at him, mock him, second-guess him.

Someone needed to pay, he was thinking; she could read him well enough.

"Carlton," she pleaded. "Just think about it. You don't have to decide today. Just don't take any action until I come back."

That got his attention; he studied her again, the anger at bay. "How much longer are you staying?"

"I don't know. A week. Maybe two."

_Why_, was his unspoken question. _Why_?

"I'm not… _done_ yet," she explained. "Understanding where I've been and knowing exactly where I'll end up aren't the same. I want to be prepared for anything when I come back."

"Okay." A little gruff.

"Plus there's one other thing."

He was clearly about to say _now what?_ but stopped when she moved closer to him. His "What is it?" came out a bit gentler as a result, or so she hoped.

"You," she said simply, and covered his hand with hers. "Us."

"Oh," he breathed. "That."

Juliet smiled, and felt a lightening in her heart, in her spirits.

He said slowly, "You have a lot to think about."

"I do," she agreed, "but if you think I'm not going to kiss you now, you're very much mistaken."

Carlton's eyes were every shade of blue at once, it seemed, almost hypnotizing her with their intensity. He slid his arms around her waist. "I would never dream of stopping you."

**. . . .**

**. . .**


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

**. . . .**

**. . . **

The bullet whizzed by Lassiter's head, smashing into the window behind him; the glass sparkled as it shattered. He fired back, keeping low under the far-too-short line of crates, and somewhere to his left, Miller was able to take out the hanging ceiling light fixture over the shooter's head, sending it crashing down.

The shooter, Marvin Mooy—_that's Moy_, he insisted, _not Moo-ee_—was determined not to be arrested, but his dream of escaping in his sleek black Porsche and somehow making it to the border wasn't coming true today.

First of all, the Porsche had four flat tires thanks to the shootout in the parking lot.

Second, there were fifteen cops here, which meant he was sort of outnumbered.

Third, Lassiter was not about to let this cross-dressing embezzling wine-tasting aluminum siding salesman's escape be the start to his week, not after two full days dealing with a triple homicide, almost no sleep, not nearly enough good coffee, and the frustration of having to _stop_ kissing Juliet O'Hara to return to Santa Barbara to do it all.

"Screw this," he snarled, stood up and shot directly at Mooy's left shoulder, the only part of the man visible that very second. He'd have shot anything else he could spot of the grandiose idiot, but the shoulder would do nicely.

Mooy yelped in pain and stumbled backward, and at least six cops were on him a few seconds after that.

Lassiter walked out into the sunshine, breathing deep, running his hand through his hair, thinking of Juliet and _that kiss_.

That kiss.

He leaned against the nearest squad car, head aching. Sleep would be so nice. Being back with her would be nicer. Hell, it'd be everything.

McNab hurried up. "Boss, you okay?"

"Coffee," he said wearily.

McNab was flustered. "But sir—"

"I know. Warehouse district. No coffee." He yawned. "Mooy all right?"

"Yeah, the ambulance is on the way."

"I'm going back to the station. Tell Miller he can finish up here." Normally he wouldn't leave a scene so early but dammit, he'd already had enough, and there were at least four Starbucks between this place and the station. He could stop at each one if he had to.

And he might.

At the closest Starbucks, after he got back into the car with the _first_ venti he intended to drink in the next hour, he got out his phone and texted Juliet. He needed a fix of her, too.

_Another serial wine-taster goes to jail. I love my job._

_Was he arrested for wine-tasting?_

_Embezzlement. First time we ever had to send fifteen cops in against one ascot-wearing dork. I think I have glass in my hair._

The phone rang. "There was gunfire?" she asked without preamble. "Are you all right?"

"Of course I'm all right. Miller's shot to the light fixture gave me my opening."

"Carlton," she sighed. "There's no 'of course' about it."

"Relax, O'Hara. I've been running on adrenalin since I left your cabin. I'm bullet-proof."

"You are not." Her voice was low, almost pleading. "And I need you to stick around."

His heart twinged. "I plan to. But don't go soft on me now, O'Hara. This is the job we do. Can't let fear take over."

"It'd be different if I were there. I could smack you upside the head if I thought you took too many risks."

"Then come home," he said simply.

She made a sound, half-sigh, half-laugh, half-he didn't know what. "Soon. Sooner, now."

They had kissed out on the deck, arms tight around each other, for precious—and mere—seconds before his phone started screeching. It wasn't really a screech, but certainly felt that way in the moment. Juliet had pulled back enough for him to look at the display; Vick. _Crap_, he said at the time, and _crap_, he said again after ending the call. He was ninety minutes away from reaching the scene of the triple homicide and Vick said _sorry, I know you went to see O'Hara but we need you here stat, tell her I said hello, now drive_.

He'd looked at her, lovely in the sunlight, and wanted to say so much to her that it was just too damned soon to say. Juliet touched his face and kissed him softly one more time, and sent him away with a quiet reminder that she would talk to him every day and maybe, if he wanted, he could come up on the weekend.

Needless to say, he'd be heading there on Saturday. Early. Maybe he would go Friday night after work and sleep in the car in the resort parking lot to be able to have breakfast with her first thing in the morning.

"How are you?" he asked.

"I'm probably better than you, but I'm tired. I've been having some crazy dreams about confrontations with Shawn."

"All the things you want to say," he suggested.

"All the things he might say back."

"There's nothing he can say to you which should hurt, Juliet. You were the best girlfriend ever." He was sure it was true, and not just because _he_ thought she was damned near perfect.

"Thanks, but… I don't know. In one dream, he yelled at me for not seeing the signs sooner. For being stupid. He even yelled at me for eavesdropping. At one point he turned into my Aunt Osla," she said wryly, "who once caught me with a glass at her door when she was being visited by her gentleman friend."

"I think you can shake off those fears, O'Hara," he told her quite firmly. "If he resorts to yelling, at _you_ of all people, then he's already lost the argument."

"I know. I think he only yells at Henry anyway." She paused. "Have you seen him?"

Lassiter had been dreading this question, because he wasn't sure how it would feel to hear it. Was she asking because of regrets, or hope, or missing him? "No. They didn't come around all last week. I…" Should he confess?

Juliet didn't miss it. "Yes? You what?"

"I, uh… may have rattled his cage a little."

"Carlton, what did you do?"

"It was only a phone call. Last week. It was a little experiment, I guess to see how much nerve he really had."

"Carlton," she repeated warily, "_what_ did you do?"

"I called the Psych office and said we needed them on a case."

Silence from her end. "And?"

"Gus said nervously that they both had the flu."

Another bit of silence, and then she laughed. "Okay. Both of them?"

"It's contagious, isn't it?" he asked innocently, and she laughed again. "There was a lot of noise in the background suggesting panic. Henry was off all week too and I didn't see him this morning before we went out after the wine idiot."

"So that means Shawn told them about my email."

"Looks like. They're running scared now, or at least Spencer and Guster are. Henry's probably just hoping he can escape unscathed."

Juliet sighed. "That's a theme of one of my _waking_ nightmares. This is going to affect more than just Shawn. It could cost Henry, too. And Gus."

"Worst case scenario—and you know I'm pretty good at imagining worst-case scenarios—Gus starts paying more attention to his real job, Henry gets a reprimand, and Spencer…" What? Gets a real job of his own? Yeah, sure. "He can go on working as a private detective, minus the lies. They'll all be okay."

In truth, he wasn't at all sure what would happen to Henry. Granted, he could take the easy way out and return to retirement, but if he elected to stay—if Vick _allowed_ him to stay—there would have to be repercussions for his cover-up of his son's lie.

Juliet had obviously figured this out herself, because her agreement was hesitant at best.

"Juliet," he said with the firmness of someone who wasn't going through what she was going through. "You went up there to work out your _own_ issues, not theirs. It's still one day at a time."

"I know." Faint. "I know. I just can't help wondering. God, I wish you were here."

He felt immediate warmth, as well as the overwhelming urge to start the car and drive up there at eighty miles per hour. Instead, he asked, "Would I really help you?"

"Yes, of course. You're helping me now. You've helped me tremendously, Carlton, you know that—"

"It's not my ego asking. It's… are you…" _Dammit, be a man. Be a _friend_, not a selfish lovestruck teenager._ "Are you sure I wouldn't be just a way to avoid, or at least delay, reality?" Henry's question last week had been haunting him: was his interest in protecting Juliet, or protecting his interest in her?

She was quiet a little too long.

He spoke again, as evenly as he could. "It's okay, you know. The stress you've been feeling is bound to cloud a lot of issues." _It's not okay. It's _not_ okay_. _I am—we are—not an 'issue.'_ Dammit, he hated reality.

"Carlton," Juliet said gently. "You're right, but you're also wrong. You and I, we're so different, but that's the whole reason we work together so well. You have the ability to get to the heart of a problem quickly, to push aside all those… clouds, and I need that. I need you." She sighed. "I need us."

There went his out-of-control heart again. "Maybe I'm just supposed to help identify the problem, not be part of it."

"You are so _not_ a part of the problem. God, I really do wish you were here so I could hold you down and make you _see_."

_Hold me down_, he thought. _Yes, please_. "And smack me upside the head."

"That too," she said with rather more enthusiasm than he expected. "Saturday can't come soon enough."

All too true.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Henry stepped into the Psych office somewhat warily. He hadn't seen Shawn in several days, and Gus was being noncommittal when he called. He himself had dodged the station all last week and this morning called in with the very same 'flu' he'd heard was going around.

Shawn was at his desk, leaning back in the chair, hands behind his head. He looked half-asleep.

Gus was at his desk, staring at Shawn.

"So. Time for a pow-wow?"

"Go home, Dad," Shawn said without looking at him.

"Shawn, I just got here, and we need to talk. You too," he said to Gus, who hadn't moved. He took the sofa by the window, and the three of them formed a Bermuda triangle of sorts, one into which he wished he could make a lot of things disappear, such as the crapstorm which was going to hit as soon as Juliet came back to town.

"Nothing to talk about. I screwed up, and it's over."

"Yeah, you screwed up, but it's definitely not over."

"I meant the relationship. Jules. The woman I was almost halfway ready to think about someday marrying, maybe." He leaned forward and rested his forehead on the desk.

Gus said, "That's all you see?"

"It's all I care about." His voice was somewhat muffled.

Henry considered throwing something at him, but none of the toys were handy. "So the big picture isn't as important? Your business, my job?"

"You don't need your job, and Gus already has one."

_Nice. That's my boy._ "What about you?"

"What _about_ me?"

"You're going to walk away from the one thing you've actually cared to do longer than a month? This is your greatest success, Shawn. Despite being founded on a lie, Psych has lasted six years. Six _years_."

Shawn flopped his head to one side and stared at Henry balefully. "Your point?"

"What you said I was going to tell you last week. Pick yourself up, deal with the consequences, and move on. You have skills, you have experience, and you can keep Psych going, except for the psychic part."

"Dad. I really do not care about my job right now."

"Shawn," Gus interrupted, "you'd better start caring. Yeah, I _can_ go back to just the one job. I _will_ be okay. If I get through the shame of being exposed as a fraud, that is. But you need this."

"And you're _good_ at this. I trained you to be the most observant son-of-a-bitch in the world, Shawn, so stop thinking about the loss of a woman you never should have lied to in the first place and start thinking about moving past her."

"And being able to pay your bills," Gus added in a grumble. "With your _own_ money."

Shawn closed his eyes. "You both suck."

"That's the spirit, son." Henry stood up. "My work here is done. Get in touch when you're ready to stop feeling sorry for yourself. Oh, and after I lose my job, I'm probably not going to be able to invite you over for dinner so often, so start clipping coupons. I know I will."

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Juliet paced the length of the deck, hugging herself against the slight chill in the night air.

She'd been texting Carlton earlier, a little oasis of peace in the turmoil of the rest of her hours here—and honestly, who would believe _Carlton Lassiter_ could offer so much comfort just by being his grumpy self?—but now she was back to her circular thoughts.

Some of them were about him, about _them_. What he'd said earlier today, about not wanting to be part of the problem. She knew what he meant: rebound. He didn't want to be the rebound guy.

Juliet was 110% certain he wasn't—she knew him too well, appreciated him too much, needed him more than she'd thought possible—but how could _he_ be sure? That was the problem.

She told him on Friday that once she had absorbed the enormity of the conversation she'd overheard, her romantic relationship with Shawn had taken a back seat (more like the barely-holding-on U-Haul dragging along behind the car) to everything else she was feeling.

It was as if…as if her romance with Shawn had been such a very long time ago, with barely remembered feelings. He'd pursued her forever, and she had resisted forever, and a tiny little part of her which didn't want to hurt his feelings (even though he wasn't there and would never know) kept asking in almost a whisper, _is_ _it because you knew a relationship with him would be short-term?_

At the end of their doomed getaway weekend, when he confessed his assumption that she wanted to get married, she couldn't correct him quickly enough. Another part of her swooped in to assure him she might want it someday—again, _don't hurt his feelings_—but the _true_ little voice said _uh, no, Shawn, but thanks for playing_.

Playing.

Maybe _she_ had been playing with _him_. Maybe she'd been using him? To kill time? To—

She could swear Carlton was standing behind her saying forcefully, _NO. You are not that kind of woman. You thought it could work. You were hopeful. You were optimistic. You were human, dammit_.

"See?" she asked the night air mistily. "I told you I needed you."

What was it going to be like to see Shawn again?

She wanted some things settled before that happened. _Great—you break up by email, and now you're thinking about calling him. Very noble. Very mature. Very_—

_Knock it off, O'Hara_, Carlton said clearly in her head, and she laughed despite herself. _Just do what you need to do. This wasn't exactly a textbook relationship anyway_.

"You're awfully chatty for someone who's not here," she grumbled.

The cell phone was on the table next to the glider.

She sat down heavily and picked it up.

Shawn answered on the second ring. "Jules," he breathed. "Jules. Thank God. I've been so worried."

"Shawn," she said levelly. "Please don't… I don't want you to call me that anymore."

He hesitated. "Okay. I won't. I mean I'll try. It's ingrained now, you know, like a toenail, only, God, that wasn't very classy, was it. I mean it's—"

She cut him off. "I'm sorry I contacted you by email. I'm not sorry for what I said, or even for how I said it, but I needed the distance. I couldn't have gotten through it in a phone call or in person, not then." And it wasn't exactly easy now_._

"I know. Gus and my dad both said I should cut you some slack."

Juliet couldn't help but roll her eyes a little. "Yeah, thanks. The thing is, I need you to know… I know you never intended to hurt me. Or anyone else. I know that."

"I didn't, Jules… Juliet. I swear I didn't."

"You started this big charade before I ever knew you and I'm sure _you_ never thought it would last this long."

"No way. I mean, if anyone had told me I'd stick to anything for even a year, I'd have thought they were crazy. Loco. Brain-spazzed. Not playing with a full deck. Lights on, nobody home. Off a rocker, maybe two."

She waited patiently for him to finish listing euphemisms for 'crazy.'

He fell silent.

"It has to stop. You know it."

He was still silent.

"I don't know when I'm coming home, and we _will_ talk face-to-face when I get there. But you need to know now that you have to tell Vick the truth, because if you don't, I will."

He was so very very quiet—a startling development.

"Have you told Lassie yet?" he finally asked.

"Yes, a few days ago. He's not going to do or say anything until I get back."

"Yeah, right." His derision was clear.

"He won't, Shawn, because I _asked_ him to stand down." She hesitated, and then said what she was thinking. "I can trust him."

_I can trust him with my life. I can't trust _you_ with my pocket change._

He let out a low whistle. "That's a little cold, Jule...iet."

Her turn for silence, but it wasn't shame; it was annoyance.

"Okay. I hear you. Look, you know everything I ever said to you about… _us_… was true. All of it."

Juliet sighed. "Yeah, I know. I just wish what you said to me about everything _else_ was true."

There was hurt in his voice now. "I'm guessing reconciliation isn't on the table, huh."

"I'm sorry, Shawn. This is just too much. If it were only the lie about being psychic—if that lie had nothing to do with my _job_; if it didn't mean you covered up criminals faking their own deaths and stealing paintings; if it didn't mean all the freaking wasted time while you put on shows and wasted time and led us on—" She stopped, knowing her anger had returned, and expressing anger had not been the purpose of her call. "I'm sorry. Obviously I have a lot of unresolved…" She trailed off. "It's just too much."

"I'm so sorry, Juliet. I never meant any of this to happen. You… this was the last thing I could ever have wanted. I am so, so, sorry."

"I know." She sighed again. "I'll talk to you when I get home, but I'm serious. You need to tell Chief Vick, either now or on my first day back to work. You have decisions to make, and giving you this heads-up is…"

"More than I deserve," he finished quietly.

_Yeah. It really is._

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Lassiter soothed her when she called at midnight, crying. He told her she'd done what she had to do, and no matter what her bruised psyche thought, everything would eventually be okay. It wasn't like him to express, let alone _feel_, optimism, but she was Juliet, and with or without him (or anyone else), she _would_ be okay.

She blew her nose and said she wished he was there.

Hearing her, so close and warm, he felt like he was, and dreamed of their kiss when he slept.

**. . . . **

**. . .**


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER NINE**

**. . . . .**

_(M rating ahead ... can ya take it?)_

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Karen Vick was a very busy woman with many responsibilities.

Very busy.

Many, many responsibilities.

But she was never too busy to miss certain types of details of daily life in the station, and sometimes the only person who could get her the information she needed was… Karen Vick.

She called her "missing" detective on Thursday morning.

"Chief," Juliet said, obviously surprised.

"How are you, Juliet?"

The answer was cautious. "I'm okay. I mean, everything's fine. Did you… need me for something?"

"Well, actually, I wanted to check in and see what was going on in _your_ world which is having such an interesting effect on _mine_." She tried not to sound irritated; she knew whatever it was probably wasn't Juliet's fault. Having overheard the conversation between Lassiter and Spencer at the end of Juliet's first week away made her pretty sure the problem was with one or all of the men.

Okay, just the one who smelled like pineapple.

"Um… _your_ world?"

"When you called me to ask for emergency time off, I could tell you were upset about something, but you're not the drama queen type and you had plenty of leave in reserve, so I decided not to ask too many questions."

"I appreciate you letting me go on such short notice." Juliet sounded more confident now.

"But in the nearly three weeks you've been gone, I've noticed a few oddities. First, your partner keeps wavering between cranky and giddy. And I don't mean the usual cranky; I mean _industrial-strength_ cranky. The giddy, I don't even want to talk about. Then Henry took last week off for a big fishing trip which apparently didn't involve any water, let alone fish, since he was seen around town several times by Miller and Dobson. This week, I'm told he's out with the flu, but it doesn't seem to be stopping him from shopping at Home Depot, which is where my husband saw him yesterday. And Monday." She paused, listening to Juliet's silence and judging her spellbound. "Shawn and Gus, interestingly, have turned down opportunities to consult on two cases. _Two_. The first time, they had the same flu as Henry, I guess, the kind that allows you to move around town as if nothing's wrong at all, and then Tuesday, they swore they couldn't get out from under their massive spring-cleaning project."

"Oh," Juliet said faintly.

"Now, I used to be a pretty good detective, you know, but even if I weren't, it doesn't exactly take a rocket _surgeon_ to figure out that no matter what's going on, _you_ seem to be at the heart of it all."

Juliet may have been holding her breath, so profound was the silence on the other end.

Karen pressed on. "I don't mean to crowd you and I'm really not trying to pry into your personal affairs, but since so many of the people who work for me seem to be involved, I'm asking. What kind of maelstrom am I looking at when you come back?"

The breath escaped. Juliet said carefully, "I… I don't think I can explain all of it."

"How about _some_? Can you explain _some_ of it?"

"Well. Yes. I—well, I broke up with Shawn."

Somehow, Karen wasn't surprised, but surely there was more to it. "And you went up there to… deal with it?"

Pause. "Sort of. The breakup is… complicated."

"Oh, hell. _Please_ tell me you're not pregnant." It was none of her business but she couldn't stop the question.

"No! Oh, God, no. No, no, no. I mean, I _want_ kids, but not right now, and not with… well, no." She cleared her throat. "Chief, I promise everything's going to be explained when I get home. I'm sorry my absence has been disruptive. You know I never intended anything like that."

Karen sighed. "I'm sure you didn't. So when will you be rejoining us?"

"Maybe… maybe this time next week? Maybe the following Monday? But it won't be much longer, I promise."

"All right, O'Hara. Again, I'm sorry to pry but all this odd behavior just gave me pause and I don't like that feeling in my own station. You understand?"

"Yes, of course. Um, Chief?"

"Yes?"

"Did you say Carlton was… _giddy_?"

Karen couldn't help but smile. "Yep. And off the record, it's not as weird as it sounds. Beats industrial-strength cranky by a mile."

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Lassiter got to the resort just before ten on Saturday morning. He figured if he made it down that path to Juliet's cabin before his heart exploded in anticipatory stress, he might get at least one good long look at her before he croaked.

It was a simple goal, one he could work with.

She was sitting on the steps of the cabin, holding a flower. At the moment he first saw her, she was looking up into the trees, smiling at a bird or maybe just at the idea he was about to die, but either way, she was just so damned lovely that his breath caught and his pace faltered.

The motion caught her eye, and she looked at him, her smile changing to one of welcome… and more.

She rose and held her arms out and he embraced her, and his heart didn't explode, but it didn't slow down much either.

Grasping his hand, she pulled him inside the cabin and through to the main room, where the wide glass window at the back revealed the tree-lined slopes of the hills and the burgeoning colors of spring. "We'll sit on the deck," she suggested, and he carried the two glasses of iced tea she poured for them.

They sat close together on the glider, and his pulse returned to normal, because there was something both calming and exciting about being with her, and having his arm around her shoulders was medicine he needed.

"Hi," he said softly. His first word since arrival. "You look wonderful. How do you feel?"

She smiled up at him, secure against his body. "I feel wonderful right now. I haven't had a _seriously_ rocky day since Monday, I think. Everything's finally starting to make sense."

They'd been in touch all week long, every day, text messages and phone calls. Lassiter was still bemused at the shift in their relationship, because it just didn't seem possible, even though sitting here close to her like this was clearly what he'd been born to do.

Yeah, forget that supercop thing. _Juliet_ was the answer he'd been seeking.

She'd told him about Vick's call, and teased him that night about being 'giddy.' He was embarrassed, but had to admit it was most likely true, and that this giddiness most likely directly followed each of their workday conversations. She didn't press for more that night, but he would probably spill it if she asked him.

Leaning her head back against his arm, and sipping her iced tea, she said, "I've been giving a lot of thought to what you said to me on Monday. About whether or not I was… hiding behind you to get past Shawn."

Lassiter tensed, and she immediately turned to look up at him, concerned.

"Relax." She kissed his cheek, and put her glass down to snuggle closer to him. "I just had to work out whether you could be right. I mean, I didn't think so. I really didn't. But my judgment has clearly been compromised by my emotions and my obsessing over all this for several weeks, and I owed it to you to be sure."

"You owed it to yourself, too." He was surprised he found speech possible, and took a rather large sip of tea to ease the sudden dryness in his throat.

"Maybe," she mused. "We've been friends such a long time and the bond between us—between all partners, I guess—isn't like anything else in the world. And I know, just like you do, how that bond can… make things fuzzy."

He had nothing to say. _But if you're going to kill me, do it fast_.

"So I had to figure out whether my thoughts about you were being influenced by that bond, never mind my thoughts about Shawn."

Another gulp—should have had whiskey in it—and he set his glass down on the glass-topped table. "What did you decide?"

Juliet's voice was soft, and he couldn't look at her. "It turned out it wasn't about deciding. It was about... _knowing_. And what I know is... there's simply no one else on the planet I'd rather have seen come up that path today. Or any day, really. That's what I know."

Now he looked at her, into her beautiful eyes, into her radiant face.

She smiled at him almost tremulously. "What do _you_ know, Carlton?"

_Oh, God. How much time have you got? _

Lassiter traced a gentle line along her soft cheek, and she sighed, and as it turned out, he didn't have any words to express his feelings. But there _was_ something he could do to show her, and he was pretty sure she would allow it.

He leaned in closer, slowly, but she held her position, and not more than a half second passed after his lips met hers before it stopped being him kissing her, and the two of them kissing each other.

It was so sweet, and so intense. Her mouth was warm and searching and the taste of the iced tea flavored his exploration of her lips. He sighed against her, and her arms slipped around his neck as she moved even more impossibly close to him on the glider, but it wasn't anxious, and it wasn't desperate.

It was only... absolutely... perfectly... _right_.

"Wow," she whispered unsteadily when he pulled back to look into her eyes, needing to confirm the reality of this moment. "You know a _lot_."

He couldn't help but grin, and she leaned in and kissed him again in the middle of it. His arms wound around her and this time it was a little more anxious, more teeth, more tongue, more urgent.

Years of want.

Answered.

Perfect.

But he grasped her upper arms and held her away from him.

She accepted the break. He didn't have to tell her they shouldn't go further, that there was too much potential chaos waiting at home, even though he wanted her so badly he wasn't sure how he could make it another day.

"Let's go inside." She stood up, offering her hand, and he let her lead him into the big sunny main room of the cabin.

But when he sank into the soft cushions of the sofa, she came to him wordlessly and straddled his lap, her mouth covering his before he could even think to resist.

"Juliet," he managed, before her tongue silenced him, and he gave it up for while, because… _oh, God_, he thought, _because_.

Kissing her was the most engrossing, enthralling, enrapturing experience he'd ever known. Having _her_ lips move against his, _her_ tongue dancing with his, _her_ teeth nipping at his lips… hearing _her_ utterly captivating rapid breathing as she responded to him… it was more than the sum total of every dream he'd ever had.

It was crazyperfect good, and it had to be too soon, no matter what she thought; it _had_ to be too soon, because romantic entanglements didn't work out very well for him, and he should stop this. He knew he shouldn't let this go further.

Yeah, he "knew" a _lot_.

He knew he shouldn't slide his hands up under her flowing dress. He knew he shouldn't let her unbutton his shirt and brush her lips against the hair of his chest, making him tense with desire. He knew he shouldn't unzip the dress, or pull it down from her shoulders, or put his lips to her breasts through the smooth blue silk of her bra.

He knew he shouldn't let her unbuckle his belt when his shirt was completely open and she'd already blazed a trail of kisses across his bare chest.

He knew all that.

And so did she.

The taste and feel of her dusky pink nipple in his mouth was a thousand times better than his thousands of imaginings about it, as was the feel of her teeth tugging at his earlobe while her hand unzipped his pants and went exploring.

Juliet paused, her eyes a smoky blue ocean of passion, and smoothly pulled the dress up off over her head. Then she unhooked her bra and pressed her bare breasts to his bare chest and kissed him deeply and needfully, as one hand slipped back into his pants, where she grasped him sensuously, fingers like sweet fire on his flesh.

And Lassiter... Lassiter who had sworn he would never again be the kind of man who would break anyone's trust, put his partner's career at risk, or allow her to make a choice she would regret, slid his hands down her smooth bare back with the very specific intent of getting her panties off so he could make love to her—a woman who was barely his to take—when his cell phone rang, disrupting their complete aloneness with all the subtlety of a claxon alarm.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Juliet froze, staring into his eyes, breathing hard. "Please," she whispered.

Carlton didn't seem to be breathing, but she could feel his rapid pulse at his throat, where her fingertips continued to caress him, and she hadn't let go of him down below, either.

The color of his eyes was a blue she'd never seen before, a blue which spoke of heat and want and need and the love she had already accepted she wanted _more than anything_.

"Please," she said again, as the phone kept ringing.

He lifted one unsteady hand from her hip and reached into his pocket. Then, his gaze never leaving hers, he pushed the 'off' button and tossed the phone to the coffee table.

"Where's the bedroom?" He was already rising, carrying her, legs wrapped around him.

She kissed him, managed to point in the right direction, and when he deposited her gently on the bed, let him slide those panties off, leaving her nude—and wanting—before him.

His shirt fell to the floor and his pants followed and she saw with wondering eyes the proof of the arousal she'd felt with her hand moments ago, but even seeing him, broad chest, lean torso, naked and about to make love to her, somehow she still couldn't take her eyes off his. His _eyes_. His heart in his eyes. His promise that neither one of them would regret this, ever.

Joining her on the bed, his warm skin touching hers from shoulder to calf, he stroked her body gently, sighing as she explored his in turn. "You have no idea," he whispered, "how much I've wanted this. You."

"Show me," she said, and pulled him to her, "because I plan to show you how much I've wanted _you_."

Funny how the human body can meld itself to another; his taller, leaner, harder frame was exactly what her smaller, curvier body needed to feel complete. All of the differences between them—starting with the way her bare, smooth breasts felt when pressed to the light fur of his chest—complemented each other perfectly.

He pushed, and she undulated against him; she arched, and he caught her up close and tight. They sighed together, within their kisses and without. They explored, with lips and teeth and fingers… and love. She felt it.

She couldn't stop stroking his skin; he was so warm. So much warmer than anyone on earth could ever imagine. He was heat, and he was hers. She was his.

His blue eyes were ablaze as he pushed into her willing body; the passion unlike anything she'd ever experienced.

She moaned out his name and heard his answering sigh, and she kissed him over and over again, feeling like now, _now_ she could go home again, because now, with him, she _was_ home again.

**. . . .**

**. . .**


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER TEN**

**. . . . .**

_(A smutty, shmoopy little **interlude** ~ )_

**. . . .**

**. . .**

"The thing I could never understand," he said as the sun fell into the west slowly, "was that no matter what kind of ass I was, you kept forgiving me."

Juliet nuzzled his jaw. "What's not to forgive?"

"When Victoria got mad at me, she stayed mad for days. When you got mad—and we both know you'll get mad again—you'd yell or eye-roll or slam things around and then in a few hours you'd be back to normal. You never asked for a new partner, you never kneed me in the groin—"

"Victoria did that?" she gasped.

"She tried," he said dryly. "The point is, you… seemed to…" He felt helpless. "You seemed to _like_ me, O'Hara, and I never understood that."

They were lying on the deck, wrapped up in blankets, pillows from the sofa to support them. It was cool but not unpleasantly so, and the warmth they shared was part and parcel of having spent half the morning and the entire afternoon making love.

Under the blankets—and still delightfully nude—Juliet draped one thigh over his and scooched closer, as close as she could get without actually being… him. "I liked you from the start," she purred.

He felt goosebumps. "Damn, really? _Why_?"

She laughed. "What do you mean, why? As for staying mad, what for? Look, it's true you can be very… prickly, but after I'd worked with you for a few months I started to see it was just an act. You were a lot more sensitive than anyone knew, and half your apparent arrogance was just so no one would question your ability to control a situation."

"Sensitive," he scoffed.

Juliet trailed one warm fingertip across his lips, and he sighed. "Yeah. Sensitive. Don't forget, I saw what your separation was doing to you. I saw all the ways you were trying, good and bad, as well as all the ways she could hurt you."

He stared up at a single orange-y cloud with a pink tail, remembering those days. The pain was gone now, though some resentment lingered.

"You know if I ever meet her, I'm punching her in the nose."

Lassiter laughed.

"And then I'm hugging her for letting you go. Stupid woman did me a favor."

He gazed at her now, amused and still disbelieving. "Maybe she did _me_ a favor." At the same time, he slid his hand between them and down the silky skin of her stomach, and she shivered involuntarily. When his fingers hit the _very_ warmest spot on her body, she closed her eyes.

He kissed her, moving his hand maddeningly just _exactly_ where she wanted him to move it, because he had learned enough about her already today so he could be confident of _that_, and Juliet's soft moans of exquisite pleasure refueled his desire for her.

Her orgasm had barely crested when she started pulling at him, wanting him anew, and there under the blankets, under the fading light of the sky, he took her again—hard—not even sure himself where this endless flood of desire—and stamina—was coming from.

After, they pushed the blankets aside to cool off. He felt exposed, to be sure, lying naked on the deck, but she promised that after three weeks here, she was sure of their privacy. And certainly he didn't mind looking at her, lit as she was by the golden light from inside the cabin as well as the last little bit of light from the sky.

"You're the most beautiful creature ever," he whispered, kissing her cheekbones lightly.

Juliet sighed. "I love you, Carlton."

His heart stopped.

He died, was _not_ resuscitated, and after many years of neglect, his headstone fell over in disrepair and—she nudged his shoulder. "Hey."

"My God," he whispered. "Did you just say you love me?"

She whispered back, "I think so. There's no one else here, is there?"

"How can you love me? I'm still not clear on why you _like_ me!"

"Carlton." She pushed herself up on one elbow to better be able to glare at him. "Why do you like coffee so much?"

He blinked. "What?"

"Why do you like coffee so much?"

"I—I—why the hell are we talking about coffee?"

"Carlton. Answer the question."

"I like the way it tastes! I like the fact that it wakes me up. I like—" He stared at her. "Are you leading up to comparing me to coffee?"

Juliet laughed and kissed him for several long delightful moments. "Mmmm, no. I was leading up to reminding you that a lot of people _don't_ like coffee, but the ones who do, the ones who 'get it,' are the luckiest people in the world. At least, that's how _I _feel about coffee. And oh yeah, _you_."

Puzzling creature. He smiled—or rather, couldn't stop the smile from taking over his face, or for that matter, his heart. "I love you way the hell more than coffee, O'Hara."

She climbed up on top of him, making him _oof_ a little in pleased surprise, and he pulled the blankets back up to cover them again. "I know you're wondering how I can be sure. You're thinking it's only been three weeks since my breakup and there's still a big mess ahead and how can I know. Am I right?"

"Yes," he admitted, his hands on her derriere under the blanket.

Juliet kissed his chin. "I _already_ loved you. I loved you for a long time because you were my partner and my best friend and you trusted me and I trusted you. I didn't let myself be _in_ love with you, though. I distracted myself with other men, because I was trying to keep the partner over here, and the dating over there, and never the twain shall meet in a dark alley with loaded guns at midnight."

He grinned, and she grinned back, and he loved her.

"But once you found out I was dating Shawn—and God, I am _so_ sorry you had to find out the way you did—I started to see you differently. He told me about your, um, threat, for lack of a better word, and that made the chink in the armor deeper. And then every time you snarked about Shawn I couldn't help but wonder if it wasn't more than just you not liking him. I had to wonder if it was because you had feelings for me."

"I did," he said, without hesitation, because what was the point of hedging now? "And it _was_ a threat, so there _is_ no better word. I'm surprised I haven't shot him during the last—"

Juliet kissed him hard, surprising him with the intensity of it, and for a few moments he forgot what either one of them had been saying.

"Then," she went on softly, "you texted me that morning. And just like that, all the barriers I'd put up were gone. Girl done fell in love, partner. Girl done fell in love."

Lassiter's heart grew an additional three sizes on the spot.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

She didn't want him to leave Sunday night, but she was prepared to let him go. He held on to her tightly, so tightly, and whispered against her hair, "What did you tell me? About layers? This is just a new layer to what we already had?"

"Yes."

"My aunt always did say to dress in layers."

Juliet laughed and grasped his jaw, kissing his mouth, loving how he returned the heat. "She was very wise."

"When are you coming home?" His voice was so low, almost plaintive, and his vivid blue eyes searched hers so soulfully.

She smiled, feeling weak in the knees again. "I think I'll be packing up tomorrow. I might not come back to work until next week, but I don't want to spend so many days away from you again."

He stroked her face gently. "You know we have to keep this quiet awhile."

"I know. But I think we should tell Vick. I'm about to bring Shawn's big lie out into the open, so starting out by telling her one myself would be a touch hypocritical."

After a moment, he nodded. "Okay. But private from everyone else."

It would be best. No need to add to the drama just yet.

He picked up his bag, hand on the doorknob.

She looked at him, silently pleading with him to stay just a little longer.

He sighed, dropped the bag, and took her back to bed.

By leaving for Santa Barbara at five in the morning, he still got to work on time.

**. . . .**

**. . .**


	11. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

**. . . . .**

_(touch of **M**, dear faint-hearted readers)_

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Juliet got back to Santa Barbara mid-afternoon on Monday. She'd tried _not_ to hurry, but once Carlton had left the cabin, even having only spent two days there, it stopped being a place of refuge and started being a place Where Carlton Wasn't.

Getting back to where he was became very important, and it really _was_ time to return to the real world's perils.

At her apartment, she collected mail and did laundry and mourned a dead houseplant and checked messages on her landline, and then called Carlton.

"Hey," he said so very warmly when he answered, making her tingle from the feel of it. "Are you home yet?"

"Well, I'm at my place. I don't think I'll be home until I'm at _your_ place. Can I spend the night with you?"

"Of course. But wouldn't you rather have a night in your own bed after so long away?"

Juliet smiled, which he couldn't see. "No, I'd rather have a night with _you_, and I don't care where it is, except I'll be honest—I don't think your car needs to be seen in my parking lot overnight."

"And no one will think to look for you here," he reasoned. "Okay, I'll call you when I'm about to leave," he said, "and we can sleep on the kitchen floor if that's what you want."

"The bed will be fine."

"_You're_ fine."

"Thank you for noticing," she teased.

That evening they made love from nearly the time she got there until exhaustion claimed them both well past midnight.

She didn't understand how she had resisted him so long. His long lean body, his wonderful hands and fingers, his tongue and all the magically evil things it could do—this man was the sexiest thing walking and if she'd allowed herself to really see it, to invite it, to _claim_ it a long time ago, much of her angst the past few weeks could have been avoided. She may have overheard Shawn's lie revealed, but there wouldn't have been such a personal component to how she felt about it.

And his heart… Carlton's heart. So hidden from the rest of the world, so protected. As if, fully expecting it would be stomped on, he'd locked it away down so deep that no one suspected it was there to break.

Or mend.

Or love her the way he loved her, and let himself be loved in return.

She watched him dress for work the next morning, regretting the clothing going on, regretting the soft salt-and-pepper hair being subdued, but admiring the completed and damnably covered-up version of her man when he was finished.

He came to sit on the edge of the bed and kissed her lingeringly. "So beautiful," he murmured.

"So not," she countered. "Not right now, anyway. I need a shower, for one thing, and—"

Carlton silenced her with another kiss, along with his hand slipping beneath the sheet to caress her.

"Ohh," she sighed. "Can't you be late for work just once?"

He smiled, and pulled the sheet back. "No." But he nudged her thighs apart and touched her, his blue gaze locked to hers. "Parting gift."

Juliet half-closed her eyes; she couldn't help it. Those fingers… oh hell, those fingers sliding and exploring… pressing… stroking… Carlton lowered his head to her breasts and nuzzled her there while his relentless hand did her in, and when she was nearly gone and her eyes were fully closed, he shifted and replaced his fingers with his mouth, and by the ragged way he was breathing—which she could hear over her own moans—she knew he was for damn sure going to be at least a _little_ late.

Before much longer his pants were off and he was grinding to her again and damn, damn, the time she had wasted _not_ having this _what a stupid stupid waste of oh Godddddd_ _oh yes oh yes ohhh_ she was lost, he was lost… they were found together… _together_.

He called her from work, while she was still purring and sated in his bed. "Only six minutes late," he said cockily.

"Uh-huh. Did you use the siren?"

Pause. "Well… not the_ whole_ way."

She laughed, and he whispered he loved her, and even though she was alone, she whispered it back. It just felt right.

. . . .

. . .

After lunch, she got in her Beetle and drove over to the Psych office. Her stomach was unsettled, but not nearly to the degree it was a few weeks ago, and she felt stronger and more ready to handle seeing him.

His bike was parked and thankfully Gus' Blueberry wasn't there. She hadn't called; she was counting on Gus being at his real job and Shawn being at loose ends, which may or may not involve food.

She entered quietly, hearing a repetitive thwacking sound, and Shawn turned from bouncing a ball against the wall.

"Jules," he breathed. "Juliet. My God. I'm so glad to see you."

Stopping just by his desk, and willing him to come no closer, she nodded and looked around. No signs of 'spring cleaning' here, not surprisingly.

Shawn was staring at her, and she thought how odd it was for him to be _still_ so long. "You look really good," he said slowly. "In fact, you look beautiful."

He looked tired. He may have lost a little weight, even, and his eyes were not as bright. "I'm sorry," she began, "for the email. And the call. I wish I could have handled all of it face-to-face."

"It's all right." He blinked. "Gus told me once that people don't act like themselves around me because I don't act like anyone else they've ever known."

Hmm, that sounded about right. "Have you decided what you're going to do?"

Shawn smiled slightly. "You mean turn myself in versus being ratted out?"

She couldn't help the flash of anger. "_Ratted_ _out_? Ratted—"

"I'm sorry!" he said immediately, taking a step toward her before stopping. "I'm sorry. Poor choice of words. I meant turn myself in or _be_ turned in. Or skip town," he added. "Don't think I haven't considered that, too."

Juliet calmed herself. She'd wondered about him taking off; she might have done it herself in his shoes. _Focus, girl; stay focused_. "So what _have_ you decided?"

Shawn leaned against Gus' desk, holding the ball against his chest. "I'm going to tell Vick I'm not a psychic. How did you know, Jule… I'm sorry, I'm going to have trouble with that. Jul_iet_. How did you know?"

"You were talking to Gus about it in the station when I came looking for you to ask about the number of Yerden paintings."

"Eavesdropping," he murmured.

"Oh, get stuffed," she snapped. "You were practically dancing around, using a normal tone of voice. You're lucky it was me who walked up behind you, not Carlton or Vick. _Anyone_ could have heard."

He had the grace to look abashed. "Sorry. I meant… look," he said, moving restlessly now. "I'm going to tell Vick. But here's the thing. I mean, here's the real thing. I've had a pretty wide range of experiences, you know? I lived in a lot of places, I had a lot of jobs—I'm adaptable. And I could shut down Psych and take off but I don't want to do that. My dad and I, well, we're kind of a work in progress, and as much as I hate to admit it and will deny outside of this conversation, I don't want to go back to being strangers. And there's Gus, my God, Gus. I don't want to leave Gus. He's my magic head." He stared at her, his expression intent. "But more than not wanting to leave, I don't want either one of them to have to take the fall for what I did. You know Gus is a good guy. You know 90% of the stuff we do is really me doing it and steamrolling him into going along with me."

Juliet nodded, knowing he was leading up to something bigger.

"But jail, Juliet. Jail. Burton Guster cannot go to jail. And if Vick finds out about Desperaux and the stolen painting, she has to pass it on, you know she does, and people a lot higher up than her are going to make it their business to…" He trailed off.

"Enforce the law," she said dryly.

"Yes. Exactly. Jule..._iet_, dammit, JulIET. I can go to jail if I have to. But I can't handle Gus going. And I can't handle my dad being fired or court-martialed or whatever, and besides, he didn't even know about Desperaux being alive until I told him about your email. He had nothing to do with that."

He came another step closer, and she held her ground, but she would run from him before letting him touch her.

"So you have to know, okay? I _will_ shut down Psych right now and leave town before I let Gus or my dad take any kind of fall for the choices I've made. There'll be no proof of anything, anywhere, ever."

Juliet put her hand on the desk to steady herself, and when he advanced she held up her other hand to tell him to keep back. "You're asking me to keep quiet about Desperaux and the painting."

"Yes."

She studied him.

"For Gus. For my dad. Not for me. If you can figure out a way to lay it all on _me_, I'll agree to that."

Letting it all cycle through her mind for a minute, she went to sit in the nearest chair, tired and unsteady. _What is the most important thing? What is the best thing? What is the best thing, for the most people, for the longest time, and the greatest good?_

"Jules," he said softly. "What are you thinking?"

_I'm thinking of Gus. Gus who goes along with you despite his better judgment and would hate you doing this—but would do the very same thing right now in your place. _

_I'm thinking of your father, who raised you to be what you are and still seems surprised when you… are what you are. _

_I'm thinking of Karen Vick and everyone else you've lied to for your own amusement._

_I'm thinking of Desperaux, an art thief—not a killer—and the simple truth that we can resume the hunt for him if we have to, but who cares, really? Right now, who cares?_

_I'm thinking of myself. And I'm thinking of Carlton, who would desperately want me to tell you _no_ but will back me up when I tell you _yes_ because he's my friend and partner and lover and if it weren't for me overhearing you crowing about Desperaux, I might not have him now. _

_So._

_Yeah._

_Maybe I owe you this._

"Okay," she said, more firmly than she'd expected.

He held his breath, it seemed. "Okay?"

She stood up. "I'm going back to work on Thursday. You come in and tell Vick the truth, and I won't say anything about Desperaux and the painting."

His relief was palpable. "Oh, my God, thank you so much. You have no idea—" He stopped. "What about Lassie?"

"If I ask him to keep quiet, he will." She spoke with confidence.

Shawn frowned. "I don't know about that."

"_I_ do. But Shawn, Vick's going to figure out even if you don't tell her that Gus and Henry are part of the con, and I have no control over what she decides to do. Nor do I want to. It's entirely her call, so there could still be some fallout for your dad. You get that, right?"

"Yes, yes, of course, but oh, man, thank you for even considering it!" He was starting to jump up and down a little, getting some of his usual… Shawnness… back.

Juliet shook her head, hiding the very small smile she might have shown on any other occasion. Only Shawn could react this inappropriately during a conversation about potential jail time, job loss, and exposure as a fraud. She kept her voice even when she spoke. "If you _don't_ show up Thursday, I _will_ tell her everything."

She might not, though. She might still spare Gus.

Shawn settled down abruptly, hands in his pockets, posture more subdued. "I know. I'll be there. I swear."

Juliet felt completely exhausted. She held out her hand. "We're done, then."

"For now," he said, looking at her hand, and slowly taking it. "I'm sorry, Jules. I'm so freaking sorry I've been such a coward all this time."

_Me too_. "We learn," she said simply.

"_After_ we've lost," he said quietly, and mostly to her hand.

_Yeah. Funny how that works._

She allowed him to hug her, briefly and awkwardly, and went away as fast as she could back to Carlton's, where she called him long enough to say she was about to collapse into what she hoped would be the deepest sleep of her life.

She didn't tell him she'd been to see Shawn. Not yet.

She only told him to wake her with a kiss.

**. . . .**

**. . .**


	12. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

**. . . .**

**. . . **

Lassiter slipped out of bed quietly somewhere around two a.m.

Juliet was asleep—he'd come home and woken her with a kiss as promised, but the kiss led to him joining her in bed and neither one getting out for awhile.

They had a very late dinner, then wrapped themselves up together on the sofa in front of the dark TV. She turned to him and said, "I went to see Shawn today."

He looked into her lovely blue-gray eyes and searched for... he didn't know what.

She met his gaze steadily, stroking his chest with gentle fingers. "It was okay. He's going to tell Vick he's not a psychic."

Lassiter couldn't help but doubt it was that simple. "But?"

Juliet reached up with a faint smile to touch the eyebrow he'd raised, smoothing it back down to where it should be. "Yeah. But."

His expression must have concerned her, because hers changed too. She sat up and turned to look at him directly, keeping one hand on his arm, the other on his thigh. As if he might be planning to run. As if he could escape her now—or ever wanted to.

He knew _consciously_ she wasn't going to say anything as emotionally horrific as that she was giving Shawn another chance. But subconsciously, those old fears were far too ingrained. "What is it?"

"I spoke for you," she said quietly. "I told him you would agree to not telling the Chief about Desperaux being alive and stealing the painting."

Lassiter's automatic response was to try to stand—despite his seconds-ago belief that he wouldn't—but Juliet tightened her grip on him and he subsided. "Juliet," he said, all red alerts shrieking at the same time.

"It's not for him."

"Of _course_ it's for him," he retorted. "He can shake off a fraud charge based on the cases he solved but he knows damned well he can't shake off the Desperaux cover-up."

"But we have no _proof_ there was a cover-up. All we have is what I overheard, and both he and Gus can deny that. The medical evidence says the man is dead. And Shawn's comment about six paintings versus five? So what? A good lawyer can get him out of that, too."

His frustration was building. "What are you asking me, then? Why do you want us to lie to help him out of a situation _he_ put himself in if you don't think he has anything to worry about?"

"He has plenty to worry about, Carlton." Her hands were gripping him so tightly, and her eyes were locked on his. "_We_ have good lawyers too, and you and I could put together a list of a hundred other little things that don't add up, like a hundred complaints from witnesses and suspects about places he shouldn't have been. We could paint a pretty clear picture of the complexity and longevity of his fraud. You know we could."

Lassiter tried to relax. He put his free hand on top of the one she had on his thigh, in part to get her to relax her painful grip. "Then tell me why we have to lie."

"For Gus and Henry."

He closed his eyes, weary.

"They'd just be collateral damage."

_Breathe deep, man._

"Carlton," she whispered. "I can't do it to them."

He thought of the scorpion and the frog… _it's my nature_… and it fit the whole insane arc of Spencer's life to be able to drag two damned good cops into the web in which he'd already trapped his best friend and father—without even trying, really, and that was the most maddening thing of all.

"Carlton." Her voice was almost too low to hear now, and so sad. "I won't blame you for saying no, because I understand you, and I love you. But I have to do this."

He opened his eyes to see tears in hers, and he enveloped her in his arms, holding her tight to his chest, breathing as hard as if he'd just come in from a run.

He promised her he'd keep it quiet, and he carried her back to the bedroom where he kissed away her tears and they made love again, slowly and tenderly and without speaking, and now he was sitting here on the sofa staring at the dark TV once more.

_You have to choose. The lie or the truth._

The lie to cover up a lie.

The truth to expose it all—Gus and Henry's roles—which meant standing against Juliet, whom he loved more than anything and whom he knew more certainly than anything was motivated only by a brighter, clearer view of the big picture than he'd ever been able to manage.

He ran his hands through his hair, sighing.

Of course he was going to do as she asked. Of course he was.

He loved her enough to know he couldn't lose her now, and he knew she would never ask anything like this again—and wouldn't ask at all now if it weren't for… well, the greater good.

And the truth was, Shawn Spencer would never again wield the same power he once had. This exposure wouldn't "finish" him because damn, the man was irrepressible and unstoppable, but it would slow him down, and maybe he might even grow up a little.

Maybe.

Lassiter shrugged. Juliet was teaching him that all things were possible.

He got to his feet, tired beyond measure (and not just from four days of a lot of sex and very little sleep), and went back to the bedroom.

Juliet was sitting up in bed, cross-legged. The moonlight from the window gave a faint halo to her golden hair. "Hi," she said softly.

"Hi." He sat on the edge of the mattress, leaning back so his head was in her lap.

She slipped her gentle fingers into his hair, which he found soothing and sweet and faintly erotic.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." He sighed when her hands moved to stroke his temples and jaw. "I love you."

She sighed too, and dropped a kiss on his forehead. "Can you forgive me for doing this to you?"

"There's nothing to forgive, honey. You haven't done anything to me."

"You're _my_ collateral damage," she said, a touch of regret in her voice. "By protecting Gus and Henry, I'm hurting you."

"No," he said at once. "You're not hurting me. I _need_ you to remind me of the value of gray areas." He turned, sitting up so he could cup her face and kiss her gently. "Your heart is the most amazing, loving, wonderful—"

She cut him off with a kiss.

And okay, he loved it when she shut him up.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Thursday morning, Detective Juliet O'Hara reported for duty at the Santa Barbara Police Department.

She was crisp, she was well-rested (actually she wasn't, but she wasn't complaining), and she was ready to hunker down and do her job.

She was greeted and welcomed; she gave pleasant adjective-filled descriptions of the resort, of the scenery and dining and walks she'd taken (all true; she was just leaving out the days of discontent, misery, unsettledness and non-stop run-on circular crazy-train thinking).

Carlton glanced at her from his desk, smiling a private smile she knew all too well now and loved completely.

Henry Spencer came in and said hello to her quietly as he got coffee, and she knew by looking at him that today was definitely the day and he didn't blame her for what was about to happen.

Chief Vick came back from an early meeting and went into her office, and a few moments later, Shawn showed up with Gus.

Shawn was subdued. Gus looked a little sick. Juliet felt sorry for him, but then again, he'd looked a little sick a lot over the years, so maybe this was nothing new.

Shawn came to Juliet's desk. "Do you want to be in there with us?"

It was really a question about whether she trusted him enough to tell the truth. "Do you want me to be there?"

"Yeah. Dad?" He waited for Henry's nod, then turned to Carlton. "You too, man."

Carlton was obviously surprised. "Are you sure?"

Shawn gave him a wry look. "It all _started_ with you, Lassie. You might as well be there when it comes full circle."

To his credit, Carlton maintained his poker face.

The five of them went to Vick's office and Shawn tapped on the door. "Got a minute? Or maybe ten?"

She was standing at the filing cabinet, and glanced quizzically at the group of uncomfortable people before her. "As a matter of fact, I think I do. Especially," she added with unexpected cheer, "if this relates to why one of my detectives took over three weeks of emergency leave, my consultant liaison was suddenly ill without being ill at all, and two of my consultants were relentlessly unavailable when called upon."

They looked at her.

Shawn said, "What, nothing to say about Lassie?"

Karen rolled her eyes. "Just come in and close the door. This ought to be good." She went to her desk and got comfortable. "Sit right there, Shawn, right in front." She smiled when he gave her a curious look. "I'm already sure this story starts and ends with you. What did you do?"

Juliet looked between the two of them, wishing she was nearer to Carlton, but Henry was between them and Gus was facing them and she needed to buck up.

Shawn elected to remain standing. He took a deep breath and looked at each of them in turn, and then said evenly to Vick, "I'm not psychic. I've never been psychic. I claimed to be psychic only because Detective Lassiter was about to throw me in jail on suspicion of burglary—"

"Robbery," Carlton muttered.

"Okay, robbery. Point is." He let out a breath. "I lied. To him, to you. To everyone."

Karen stared at him. Juliet was a bit alarmed at how dark her eyes seemed right now.

Shawn added, "It's my dad's fault, really."

Henry muffled a curse and Karen's eyebrows went up sharply.

"No, wait, I mean—that's not what I meant. It's not his fault. I meant, he taught me to be observant and he taught me all about deductive reasoning, and everything I… divined… was really just that." He hesitated. "Paying attention. Really, _really_ close attention."

Karen turned her head without seeming to move at all. "Henry," she said coolly, "I seem to recall you sitting in this office many years ago assuring me your son was, in fact, psychic."

Henry shifted—Juliet seldom ever saw him nervous—and then abruptly made himself relax. "I thought it was a one-time thing, Karen. I was doing my boy a favor. I never knew it was going to last beyond that first case."

"Neither did I," Shawn said, and Karen returned her not-in-the-least-bit-warm-brown gaze his way. "Or Gus. Nobody did. I mean, I thought it was fun but I'd never been good at sticking to anything so when it stopped being fun I was going to quit but… well… it never stopped being fun."

Gus mumbled, "It wasn't _always_ fun, Shawn."

Karen said, "No, I don't see how it could have been. I seem to remember a disturbingly large number of cases where people put their lives on the line so you could have _fun_, Mr. Spencer, and sometimes the lives at risk were yours and Guster's."

"Chief, I swear—"

"I also seem to remember a few times when our _jobs_ were on the line. I hope you were having _fun_ when the screw-ups in the Sergei Czarsky investigation almost let that man go free."

Icicles hung from the light fixtures, her tone was so cold.

Shawn abruptly sat down. "No. No, Chief, that wasn't fun at all." He rubbed his face. "Look, I've made mistakes. I've been an ass. I dragged my best friend and my dad onto this ride with me and I told myself it was about solving crimes. Being the hero. And yeah," he admitted, "having fun." He gave a sidelong glance to Carlton. "A little competition, too."

Carlton remained impassive.

_Thank God,_ Juliet thought.

Karen stood up slowly, moving back to the windowsill, crossing her arms and giving him what Juliet was certain had to be her steeliest glare. "When I think of all the times—and there were a _lot_ of times, Mr. Spencer, a _hell_ of a lot of times—when we jumped through hoops to guess your meanings, or we wasted precious time while you put on a show—oh my _God_, I remember you doing a musical number in here—" She stopped to draw an angry breath. "You made us look like fools. Now I understand _exactly_ why O'Hara had to leave town, because frankly, _I _want to kill you right now, and the smartest thing you _ever_ did in your overdramatic life was bring these people in with you to stop me."

The silence was profound. Shawn had never been more still than he was right then, and Juliet mused _that's twice I've seen him like that this week. Shawn is finally learning, the hard way, how to be still_.

Karen drew herself in and sat down again, palms flat on the desk, as if holding on that way would calm her down. "Go. I have to think about all this. I have to think about what to do."

They were all frozen for a moment.

"Go," she snapped.

Gus was at the door a second later, Shawn not far behind. Henry paused to look at Karen, but she shook her head.

"O'Hara, Lassiter, stay. Close the door."

Juliet stood beside her partner, drawing from his solid strength and the heat she could feel between them. "Chief."

Karen's jaw was impossibly tense. "This is why you left?"

"Yes. I overheard them talking—Shawn and Gus—and it more or less threw me into a tailspin."

She nodded. "And you, Carlton?"

"O'Hara told me the day I went up to see her."

"Triple homicide," Karen agreed, almost absently. "Sorry I had to call you back for that."

"It's my job," he said neutrally.

Karen returned her piercing gaze to Juliet. "You gave him an ultimatum?"

"If he didn't tell you, I would." She felt those words weren't enough. "I was a mess, Chief. I knew instantly the relationship was over but I had to work through my own anger and frustration and disappointment and—"

Carlton put his hand on her back, and it soothed her instantly.

"In retrospect, maybe I should have told you immediately. But truthfully, I could barely form sentences and that wouldn't have done either one of us any good."

"Yes, I understand, because I'm currently experiencing that myself." She sighed. "All right. I have some thinking of my own to do. Is there anything else I need to know about this particular 'big reveal'?" Her gaze moved lower; it was apparent she had noticed Carlton's hand was not at his side.

"Not about Shawn," he said, and Juliet was grateful to have him take the lead. "The, uh, nature of _our_ relationship has changed. We wanted you to know."

She had no particular expression for a moment.

Juliet was holding her breath.

"I guess I'm not terribly surprised, given how you've acted during her absence, and how you acted when I told you he was giddy." She smiled just a little. "And it is somewhat ironic, I suppose, isn't it?" She looked at Carlton, bemused. "Shawn broke up your inappropriate relationship when he breezed in here six years ago, so it's fitting you'd be starting a _new_ inappropriate one as his era comes to an end. Or at least changes." She stood up.

"'Inappropriate' is a bit harsh," Juliet said carefully.

"In the eyes of the higher-ups, O'Hara, because you're partners. Relax. Right now a relationship between you two is at the very bottom of my list of low priorities."

"We're not going public yet. We wanted to tell you, in the spirit of…" He paused. "In the spirit of lie-reduction."

"Uh-huh." She put her hands flat on the desk again, already distracted. "Okay. Go off and be discreet." Glancing past them, through the blinds on the glass door, she said very quietly, "Revoke their visitor passes until further notice. I don't want to see them around until I've decided what to do. And send Henry in here. I'm going to have to suspend him for awhile."

_And if that was the worst of it for him, he was damned lucky,_ Juliet thought, but was still sorry to see it happening. She was sorry about all of it, really, except for Carlton.

He would blush later when she told him he was her silver lining.

**. . . .**

**. . .**


	13. Chapter 13

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

**. . . . .**

_(hope you don't mind a little more **M**)_

**. . . .**

**. . .**

On Friday morning, brushing her hair and smiling at Carlton in the mirror as he adjusted his tie, Juliet said, "You know what? I think I'm having car trouble."

He gave her a startled blue glance. "You can tell that from the fifth floor?"

"Well, no. But it sounds good, and it'll explain why I had to catch a ride with you to the station today."

Awareness dawned, and he grinned. "That's not going to work _every_ morning, you know."

"I know," she said cheerfully. "Some days, _you're_ going to have car trouble."

He came up behind her and dropped a soft kiss on her neck. "So we have some extra time, then."

Juliet leaned back against his warm body. "We do. Shame to waste it."

He agreed, muttering a question about why he bothered dressing at all if she was just going to get him naked again before he could even make it out of the bedroom. She muttered back that if this was a problem, he should start dressing in his living room.

Carlton opted to take his clothes off without further protest.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

No one seemed to take any notice of them as they walked in together, but Juliet knew Carlton was right to say they couldn't count on this lack of attention, so she made a point of volunteering to Buzz McNab—who was blissfully gullible about these things—that her Beetle's front tire seemed low and she'd asked Carlton to give her a ride just in case.

Buzz of course offered to go take care of it for her, and she flashed him a sunny smile, assuring him Carlton had already promised to see to it after work. (Not that she couldn't do it herself, but Buzz was charmingly old-fashioned and would consider it shameful for a man not to help a woman in need.)

Because Buzz knew as well as she did, albeit in a different sense, that Carlton would no sooner leave his partner in the lurch than hand his Glock to a vegan Democrat, he was satisfied justice would be done.

She glanced toward Karen Vick's office. The door was closed, but the Chief was in there. Normally the door was only closed if she were in a meeting or _extremely_ busy, but somehow Juliet knew this was about Shawn.

Swinging by Carlton's desk, she jerked her head toward the office. He followed her gaze, nodding slightly.

For a moment, settling in to her own work, which was mostly bringing herself up to speed on current investigations, she felt a touch guilty about. . . well, about feeling better.

It wasn't just post-coital afterglow (which thought made her sneak a glance at him, only to find him sneaking one at her; he blushed and she felt giddy), and she _was_ worried about how Gus and Henry were going to fare at the hands of a rightfully angry Karen Vick.

She was worried about Karen, too—she knew her boss was most likely having a very difficult time trying to decide how to punish people she had liked and trusted for many years. Even Shawn—she knew Karen liked him, despite his incredible skill at being incredibly annoying. Shawn could get almost anyone to like him. Part of the con artist package, Juliet thought cynically.

She spared a thought for Shawn himself… for the loss of their friendship at least in the short term (because she knew it would never fully recover), and for the time she'd spent holding on to the illusion of their relationship's likely lifespan, because her private doubts, unexpressed, meant she'd essentially been wasting his time as well.

For another long moment she considered herself a shameful excuse for a human being, to be enjoying her newfound (no, newly _admitted_) love while Shawn, Gus and Henry were wondering what kind of potentially very serious repercussions they were facing.

Her phone buzzed.

Carlton: _Why are you frowning over there?_

_Sorry. Reality keeps hitting me._

Pause_. Everything will eventually be all right, you know._

She had to smile. _It's not like you to be optimistic, Carlton._

_I know, but then it's not like me to be loved by someone like you either._

Now _she_ blushed—she could feel her face warming—and turned in her chair to see him.

Carlton's blue eyes were fixed on her, and his color was a little high as well, but the expression on his lean face told her everything she needed to know.

_It is now_, she texted back. _So get used to it_.

He only smiled, and they got back to work.

As the day progressed, Juliet paid attention whenever someone dared to knock on the Chief's door. Generally, those brave souls—if admitted entrance, and not all of them were—emerged again with expressions ranging from mildly startled to outright panicked.

Juliet could relate to Karen's mood. Her days of anger had been fierce, draining even, and until she'd started communicating with Carlton she hadn't been entirely sure the anger would ever diminish back to manageable levels.

Ironic that Carlton, famed for his irascibility, would be the calming influence she'd so desperately needed. She smiled.

He texted her again. _You're driving me crazy._

_But I'm just sitting here smiling._

_That's all it takes._

_Well, if my desk faced yours, you'd be driving _me_ crazy too._

_If our desks faced each other, no one would believe you had a flat tire this morning_.

Karen Vick came out as Juliet was smirking at the screen, approaching the coffee bar rapidly. She glanced at Juliet, her face stern, poured coffee, and stalked back to her office.

Yeah… Juliet knew the feeling.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

They were headed out at the end of the overly long day when Juliet asked if they could run by her place so she could pick up her mail and a few more bits of clothing.

Lassiter was agreeable, and walked in with her, taking a look around her bright and sunny apartment. He hadn't been here since it was shot up during the commune case. He remembered his fear that day—he hadn't been able to get to her as quickly as he wanted and while he knew she was unharmed, and moreover had Shawn to "protect" her (yeah right), he'd still felt partially gripped by fear until he saw for himself she was safe.

Juliet did her little tasks briskly, humming while she watered her plants and checked the fridge, and implicit in all this—which made Lassiter feel very pleasantly warm—was that she was planning to spend the weekend with _him_.

To which he had utterly no objection.

He joined her in the kitchen, leaning against the counter while she tied up the trash bag, listening with complete contentment as she murmured about other things she needed to do.

"I really should get some boxes this weekend and start getting rid of what I won't need, and—" She stopped, and gave him a stricken look.

"What is it?" he asked at once, already worried.

"Oh, my God," she said faintly, a splash of color in her cheeks. "I'm so sorry. I was just—wow. I was just taking it for granted. I can't believe it. I'm so embarrassed. You must think I'm—" She stopped again, putting her hands up briefly to pat her pink cheeks.

Lassiter was confused now as well as worried. "I must think you're what?"

"Awfully... presumptive." She perched on one of the bar stools and patted her face again. "I am so embarrassed. Oh, Carlton."

"O'Hara, what are you talking about?" He stood closer to her, pulling her hand away from her cheek so he could touch her there instead. She leaned against his hand briefly, and they both sighed.

"I just... well, I was just taking it for granted that we're... going to..." She hesitated, and then plunged on. "Live together. And it's funny, because I never wanted to live with anyone I wasn't really seriously committed to, and that's why I was so unprepared when Shawn asked me to move in the night you guys were all hopped up on whatever that was, the night you shot Bobo, but..." Her eyes were wide. "But here I am assuming you want to live together because, well,_ I_ want that but it's wrong of me to assume _you_ do, and you must be freaking out. I'm so sorry—maybe you want me to back off a little; I mean I've taken up so much of your time lately and I've been at your place every night this week, and—"

Lassiter was astonished. He cupped her face with both hands in mid-ramble. "Stop."

She stared up at him anxiously.

"About four blocks from the police station, there's a rusted out Fiat parked next to a little run-down diner."

Juliet frowned. "And?"

"If you wanted me to live in that Fiat with you, I would sell the condo in a heartbeat."

Her smile came slowly, brightening her lovely face, which he kissed lovingly.

"I admit I wouldn't mind holding out for a refrigerator box—long legs, you know—and naturally I'd prefer an _American_ car, but for you, I'd make the sacrifice." He kissed her again.

"Oh," she said, her voice tremulous.

"Because for you, my Juliet," he added softly, "it wouldn't be a sacrifice at all."

"Ohhhh," she sighed, and slid her arms around his neck. "I love you so much, Carlton."

"I love you back." He deepened the kiss, and moved closer to her; she lifted her legs to wrap around his, and because she had worn a skirt to work, and because he couldn't resist her, it wasn't very long before he was sliding the skirt up higher on her thighs.

"Yes, please," she purred, unbuttoning his shirt after disposing of his tie without ceremony.

"And I've wanted to marry you for a long damned time," he said huskily as she kissed his chest, stroking his nipples and making him shiver. "When I ask you, will you say yes?"

She nuzzled his sternum. "Will you take me right here on this stool?"

A shot of desire rippled through him, even before she undid his belt and unzipped his slacks.

"Yes," he groaned, fumbling with her blouse.

"Then yes to you too, Carlton. Yes." She pushed his pants down and pulled him impossibly close.

He tugged her blouse off hurriedly and practically yanked her bra off, covering her breasts with kisses borne of an intense and fiery need To Have Her Right Now.

There seemed to be no time to even get her panties off, nor any ability on his part to pull back enough to do it. His whole body was magnetically locked to hers, but the thing about panties is...

Well... they can be moved _aside_ in the pertinent area.

Which operation they cooperated on, so that standing at the kitchen counter, with Juliet grinding against him from her perch on the bar stool, Lassiter did in fact take his lover, and hard, to her great satisfaction as well as his. His hands gripped the edge of the counter while she clung to his neck, and more than once the stool seemed about to topple, but there was no separating them now.

Then, trembling together and breathing raggedly, they disconnected long enough only to exit the kitchen and make it the inordinately long journey to her bed, where Lassiter finally got those panties off and lay with her, kissing every part of her body he could reach, making her almost frantic with new passion.

She was gasping out his name, desperate, clutching his shoulders, her whole body seeming to shake as he brought her to orgasm again and again with his mouth and fingers, and to Lassiter it was no trouble, no chore, because he loved being the man she wanted. The man she loved. The man who was driving her insane with need... and being driven insane by his own need.

"Now you," she growled, and he didn't resist being pushed onto his back.

What she did to him with _her_ mouth was illegally, madly, mind-meltingly delicious—he swore he saw actual stars—but just before there was no turning back, he gripped her shoulders and pulled her up to ride him, the two of them breathing as one as they connected anew... deeply, repeatedly, and completely magnificently.

She mumbled something against his chest later. It sounded like, "Damn."

_Yeah, _damn_. Every time it's like that. Damn._

"Anyway, yes," he managed when _he_ could finally talk. "Move in any time you like."

Juliet laughed, lifting her radiant face, pushing her tousled golden hair over her shoulder. "Okay. I will. It might make being low-key a little harder, though."

"We can say your place is being fumigated. For like, six months."

"Serious bug problem," she agreed, kissing his collarbone. "Serious."

"No bugs at my place."

"Really?"

"No. They can't operate the elevator." He grinned, and she smacked his chest, and they ended up spending the night right where they were.

**. . . .**

**. . .**


	14. Chapter 14

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

**. . . . .**

_(This final chapter's a little long, but not long enough for two chapters, so I figured you could tough it out.)_

**. . . .**

**. . . **

Juliet jumped about a foot when Karen Vick spoke her name. She was at the filing cabinet behind Carlton's desk, and he had only moments ago whispered something suggestive to her when he got up to fetch more coffee.

Karen—who surely, God willing, hadn't heard what Carlton said—seemed to have materialized in his place. "Detective O'Hara. My office, please."

She was already gone before Juliet had the presence of mind to follow—let alone the briefest of moments to glance at Carlton—and was standing in the doorway ready to close it as soon as they were both inside.

"Have a seat." She pointed to the conference table in the corner. She looked tired, but definitely in control of herself. More than half the week was gone, and this was the first time Karen appeared ready to deal with the world.

As if sensing her thoughts, Karen said matter-of-factly, "Last Thursday I had this idea I could make a decision by Monday, but it proved more difficult than I imagined. I'm sure you of _all_ people can understand that."

Juliet nodded. _She_ still wasn't completely settled about everything after five weeks; if Vick _only_ needed one week, good for her.

"In less than an hour, I'll meet with Guster and both Spencers in to give them my… ruling." She seemed to steel herself. "But I wanted to speak to you first because you're closer to the heart of this than anyone else, and because I have a question."

Juliet felt uneasy, but only because of the rather intent look on Karen's face. "Anything, Chief."

"Don't be so sure." She tucked a hair behind her ear. "I've spent these days working out what would be a fitting set of consequences for what I consider a _serious_ breach of trust. I've tried to separate in my mind the facts which relate to police work, the law, and general workplace etiquette from the facts—or _feelings_, more accurately—which relate to me being personally pissed off in a way that I've never been pissed off before in my life."

"I hear that," Juliet murmured.

"Yes, I'm sure you do. There have to be significant repercussions here, O'Hara. There _have_ to be. But at the same time, I simply can't discount the number of cases Shawn and Gus have solved for us. The public good can't be denied, even though half the time the public ends up complaining about their conduct during investigations."

Restless all over again, Karen got up and paced the room for a few moments.

"It's fraud, or a form of fraud. The point was to solve cases, and they've done that. They didn't make money because he was _psychic_—they made money because they solved cases. But it's still a lie, because we gave them the benefit of the doubt—and a hell of a lot of leeway—which we might not have done if they hadn't falsely claimed special abilities. I don't even want to imagine what kind of legal wormhole settling _that_ issue might involve."

Plucking at a dead leaf on the plant by the window, she went on evenly, "Nonetheless, it's unacceptable. The lies are unacceptable to me. So I'm putting a moratorium on hiring them for six months. During that time, they must cease and desist advertising their agency or services as being of a psychic nature—possibly including changing the name of the agency. They must also make personal restitution for any outstanding complaints against them—and it'll take awhile to work through those, you know. If at the end of six months I am _completely_ satisfied that in _no_ way is Shawn Spencer at _any_ time representing himself as a psychic, then I will _consider_ retaining their services as consultants again. No guarantees," she added with a touch of anger Juliet knew wasn't directed at her. "And their visitor passes stay revoked for the duration, too."

Juliet dared not say a word.

"If they do _not_ comply, I will proceed with fraud charges and let the lawyers work it out. And I'll wash my hands of them, O'Hara, with a completely clear conscience." Her eyes glittered with anger and resolve.

Juliet knew those feelings, too.

Returning to her chair, Karen composed herself. "As for Henry, he's suspended without pay for three months. If he elects to return as consultant liaison, he will _always_ have to clear the hiring of his son through me, and there'll be no more worming their way into investigations, either. A formal request for their services will have to come from me or Lassiter." The chilliest hint of a smile curved her lips briefly. "So in other words, they'll have to work for it."

"That seems wise," Juliet ventured.

"Honestly, I don't know what I was thinking when I hired Henry to try to manage his own son. I suppose I thought he could do what no one else could do, but that was clearly a dumbass move on my part. If Shawn was unimpressed by the wrath of Lassiter, Henry sure wasn't going to get anywhere."

"It wasn't dumbass, Chief. Shawn even referred to himself as a steamroller the other day."

"He is that," Karen said grimly. "Con artist too… but never mind."

Juliet had no interest in defending Shawn, so she only waited for the rest.

Karen looked at her speculatively. "Now the other reason I called you in."

A faint prickling…

"One of the things which has been stuck in my head is actually something _I_ said last week. It was about Sergei Czarsky and how Shawn's illegal trespassing almost cost us the entire case against that murdering son-of-a-bitch."

She remembered very well—the whole department had come under heavy fire along with Shawn—and she was afraid she knew where Karen was going.

"I reminded you recently that I used to be a pretty good detective, though it seems to me you only have to know Shawn about a day to figure out he likes shortcuts." Karen's voice was quite low now, and her brown gaze was fierce. "I turned a blind eye to my suspicions for a long time because I considered getting the cases solved to be the end game, and what I didn't know, well, I didn't know."

_Breathe, O'Hara._

"Now, I do understand the shock of ending a relationship suddenly based on profound loss of trust, but you're no shrinking violet, and while this week has certainly been difficult for me, I can't help but wonder why _you_ needed _three_ weeks. Especially since—no offense—you moved on fairly quickly to Lassiter."

Her cheeks were burning. It did look bad, but how to explain how _right_ it was?

"So what I'm asking you is this, O'Hara, because frankly, the idea of someone like Sergei Czarsky walking free scares the ever-loving crap out of me." She leaned in closer, and Juliet thought dazedly _it's not just Carlton who can pin me down with a look_. "Did you come into any _other_ information at the time you learned Shawn was a fake which is even _remotely_ on the same plane as the Czarsky disaster?"

She couldn't help but hesitate a moment, but then found her voice. "No."

Karen stared at her, unwavering.

"No, Chief." She was firm, and it was true. She had no idea, honestly, what other illegal activities Shawn had committed in the name of "investigation," but she was absolutely sure that if any of them were like Czarsky, he would have found a way to make it right, just like he did that Christmas.

Desperaux was an art thief, but no killer, and most of his thefts weren't really thefts at all. Juliet would never excuse or condone his actions but he was in no way whatsoever a threat to society the way Czarsky had been.

"No," she said again. "You have my word."

After a very long moment, Karen relaxed slightly and sat back in her chair. "All right." She rubbed her temples, and glanced across to the mug of coffee on her desk. "Good. It goes without saying that even if you repair your relationship with Shawn, you are expressly forbidden from under-the-radar consults with him or Guster."

"I wouldn't do that, and… there's not going to be anything like that kind of repair."

Karen eyed her. "Never say never."

"Never," Juliet said coolly. "And as for Carlton, I don't take offense because I know it seems questionable. That's why we're going to keep it private as long as possible. But for your information as my supervisor, I'm pretty damned sure Carlton's the one I should have been with from the beginning. This is not a rebound fling, and he is not a crutch. He has an incredibly loving heart and I am in all probability the luckiest woman alive." Well crap, now she had tears in her eyes.

Karen smiled. "Down, girl. I get it. As I said last week, I'm not even really surprised. You two have a remarkable connection." She sighed. "Just keep it under wraps as long as you can."

"We will. We don't want any drama either."

"All right, then." Karen stood up and made a beeline for her mug. "You can tell Lassiter any part of this conversation, but otherwise I don't plan to do a lot of explaining to anyone else beyond a strict enforcement of their persona non grata status here. _You_ already understand the need for discretion. Truthfully, I'm hoping this doesn't come to the attention of the mayor's office—let alone the media—until _long_ after Psych has stopped their fraud. The more distance between us and that, the better." She took a deep drink of the no-doubt lukewarm coffee.

Juliet rose, feeling unaccountably shaky for a few seconds. "Thank you, Chief, and I apologize for—" She hesitated.

Karen's eyebrows went up. "For what? Not overhearing them sooner?"

"Maybe. Maybe that's exactly it." Maybe she should have overheard them before she ever started dating Shawn. Half the angst—well, maybe a third—would be gone.

"Wish me luck," the Chief murmured as Juliet left. "Or wish them luck."

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Lassiter watched Juliet as she returned to her desk; she didn't look his way but in a moment she called his desk phone.

"Detective Lassiter," he drawled. He could see the side of her face, and she was smiling.

But the smile faded when she began to talk in a low voice. "I don't want to be so obvious as to sneak off with you to talk right now, but I wanted to let you know what Vick said."

"You have my full attention. Could you turn in your chair just a little so I can see more of you?"

The cheek he could see went pink, but she did turn a bit, shooting him a rather interesting glance as she pretended she was talking to someone else.

He listened without comment as she told him everything Vick had passed on. In his mind, Vick had been far too generous with Spencer—six months? What was that, one month for each year of asshattery?—but he actually did understand her dilemma: the cases they had solved had to be worth something.

"What do you think?"

"It's a start. It's more than he deserves."

She looked directly at him, and he couldn't quite read her expression. She probably thought he was too cold, too hard, and he resigned himself to her disappointment with him.

"I agree," she said quietly, "but it's the Chief's call."

Amazing how the pressure in his chest eased at those words. Still, he hadn't lost all ability to screw things up. "Has he been in touch with you?" he asked abruptly, and her eyes widened, and he felt guilty all over again. "I'm sorry. It's none of my business."

"Carlton, stop." She hung up the phone and approached his desk, and for a breathless moment he thought she was going to kiss him right here in the open—he knew that look well enough lately—but whether she was or not, her path was interrupted by McNab showing photos of the kitten he and Francie were considering adopting.

_Foiled again_. By the time they were both free of people, however, Spencer, Guster and Henry were making their slow way down the hall toward Vick's office, escorted by a uniform.

He was startled to realize he felt no joy now… in fact he felt a little uneasy on their behalf. Henry was a good cop—a good man—who was paying the price for the son he'd raised; Guster, forever in Shawn's shadow, had counted too long on Shawn being able to get them out of the trouble he got them _into_, rather than being fully his own man. And Spencer, well…

Carlton sighed. Idiot. Far too intelligent to be such an ass.

Of course, he suspected someone might have said that about _him_ a time or two.

Juliet hurried over. "Can we take an early lunch? I don't really want to be here when they come out."

"Let's go."

**. . . .**

**. . .**

They used part of the time to move a couple of boxes from her place to his, and while in his closet hanging up dresses, Juliet called to him, "Am I a coward?"

"If you are, I am," he called back. He'd taken his shoes off and was resting against the headboard.

"_You're_ not," she said decisively, and came out of the closet completely nude.

"Holy crap," he said, laughing and instantly aroused (or more accurately, jumpstarted from his recently perpetual half-arousal to full-out arousal).

Juliet scrambled up onto the bed, undoing his belt while saying calmly, "I mean, running away just now so I wouldn't have to see him. Stealthily moving my stuff over here instead of being above-board."

"O'Hara," he managed, as she went to work on his shirt buttons. "I can't really have a conversation about cowardice while you're ripping my clothes off."

"Try," she said with a grin, and lowered her head to tug at his zipper with her teeth.

"Hell," he groaned. "No. The stealth is about privacy from coworkers as well as respecting Spencer's feelings. The running away… oh, _God_, honey, yes… is about… oh…_son_ofa…"

When her wickedly hot and irresistible mouth closed around his flesh, he really had to give up speech, but he was pretty sure she got the idea.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Late in the afternoon, back at the station like a normal police officer who _hadn't_ spent her lunch hour boinking her partner like a sex-mad bunny, Juliet found herself thinking yet again about Shawn.

Gus and Henry, too, but right now, Shawn. The three of them were long gone when she and Carlton returned from lunch, and Vick had only given her a cursory shrug and a quiet, "It's done," in passing.

She didn't feel free to ask Vick for details, and maybe ignorance was bliss.

Her cell phone rang, and to her surprise, Gus' name was on the screen.

_It could be Shawn_, she warned herself… but maybe it was time to talk to him again, if he was reaching out today of all days.

Gus, however, _was_ on the other end. "Juliet," he said. "I hope you don't mind me calling."

"Of course not, Gus. What can I do for you?"

"I was wondering if you could come to the park down the road for a few minutes. Maybe get a cup of coffee and watch me eat a churro."

"Is Shawn with you?" she asked bluntly.

To his credit, he didn't hedge. "Yes, but he'll stay in the car. Or near the car, anyway."

"He can talk to me, Gus. I just didn't want to be blindsided. I'll be there in ten."

She searched out Carlton, who was heading down the hall, and caught up with him just as he was about to go down the stairs. "A word?" she asked, tugging on his sleeve.

He took her to Observation A, gazing at her with those sky-blue eyes. "What's up?"

"Gus just called. He wants me to come meet him and Shawn in the park."

He tensed immediately. "For what? Some kind of psychological ambush?"

"I don't think so. That's not really Gus's style, and I don't think he'd let Shawn do it either." She felt… she didn't know how she felt. She studied Carlton, trying to guess at his fears.

Grasping her upper arms lightly, he only said, "I'll go with you, or I'll stay here. Your choice. No questions."

All traces of unease left her at once, and she stood on tiptoes to give him a light, soft kiss, which made him sigh and relax and take her into his arms for a wonderfully warm and loving few seconds.

"I'll call you when it's over," she whispered.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Juliet saw the Blueberry first, not surprisingly. Shawn was leaning against it, arms folded, sunglasses shielding his face—though he'd never really needed help concealing what he didn't want known.

Gus was at the vendor buying his churro, and he motioned to ask if she wanted one, but she shook her head.

They sat together on a bench near an elm, and he said earnestly, "I really just wanted to tell you I'm sorry, Juliet. I'm sorry for my part in what happened. You're a really good person and we shouldn't have let this go on so long."

She touched his arm lightly. "It's okay now, Gus. It's all out in the open and we can move forward."

"You know what the Chief told us, right?" There was a touch of alarm in his eyes as he remembered.

"Yes." She half-smiled. "If you keep the agency going, you'll have to change the name."

Gus looked skeptical. "Shawn's already pushing for Psych-_Like_, but I think maybe it should just be Guster & Spencer."

"Not Spencer & Guster?" she teased.

He muttered, "You must be out of your damn mind," but then grinned. "Honestly, I'm just glad he doesn't want to cut and run. I've been halfway expecting it all month."

Juliet had been too; from what she knew of Shawn's life before his return to Santa Barbara, very little of it had involved staying put anywhere.

"Anyway," Gus went on, "we'll be talking. But I think he's going to stick it out and try to… try to be a man. Admit to our mistakes, fix what we can, and move forward." He glanced back at Shawn, who offered a lazy wave. "You know he's a good guy, Juliet. He's just…"

"An idiot?"

"That's fair." But he was smiling, and she understood exactly how strong their friendship was. "I just wanted to apologize and tell you I think it's going to be okay in the end."

They both stood, and Juliet said quietly, "I do know he's a good guy, Gus. And so are you. You both usually had the right _target_ in mind."

"I'd like to think so. Um… can he talk to you a minute?"

She waited for some internal sense of 'no' to signal her, but it didn't, so she nodded.

"I'll see you in six months," Gus said, and beckoned to Shawn, who approached—hands in pockets, not quite sauntering—as he went back to the Blueberry with his churro.

"Hey, Jules. Crap," he laughed. "I'm sorry. I'm always going to have trouble with that. You know I'm a nickname addict. Jul_iet_."

"It's okay, Shawn. You can call me Jules." It didn't mean anything now, not like it used to. It wasn't special the way it had once been.

"Thank God, because seriously? That was _never_ going to work. You put someone with an attention span as short as mine up against the colossal task of remembering not to call your ex what you called her for six years, and _boom_, disaster. _Whaaaat_?"

Ever the rambling jokester. "How did it go with Vick?"

He looked off toward the trees for a moment. "Better than I thought. I was sure she was going to throw my ass in jail and fire my dad outright. If you have anything to do with me walking around free right now—"

"I didn't. She made the decision completely on her own."

Finally he took off the sunglasses and faced her directly. He was tired, unsettled, yet somehow resolute. "I owe you a hell of a lot, don't I? For giving me—us—a chance to begin with, as well as for keeping quiet about… the other thing."

Juliet said levelly, "I have no regrets about the chance, and I'm sure you'll never need anyone to keep quiet about any other things again, right?"

Shawn shook his head. "Never. Well. Not like that, anyway."

Cynically she thought, _or maybe you'll just keep your voice down next time_. People like Shawn didn't change _that_ much.

He scooped her into his arms for a hug, taking her by surprise, and murmured "I'm sorry" against her hair. "I am _so_ sorry I screwed us up."

She could only return the hug, not the sentiment, and after he let her go she said gently, "Then you've learned how not to screw up the next relationship." She hoped this would answer as kindly as possible any lingering questions he might have about the possibility of a reconciliation. Even without Carlton, she knew _she_ could never get back on the Shawn Spencer Rollercoaster.

"Yeah." He smiled faintly, and she knew he understood.

"Be well, Shawn. Maybe we'll work together again in a few months." She smiled, waited for his quiet goodbye, and turned to head back to her Beetle.

Henry Spencer stepped into her path before she got very far, and she wasn't even surprised.

"Hey, Henry. Is it Gang Up On O'Hara Day?"

"Nah. I just heard they were hoping to talk to you and thought I might get a moment, too." He fell into step beside her, aiming for the car. "It's been a hell of a ride, huh?"

Understatement of the decade. "I'm sorry it all worked out this way, you know. Including your suspension."

"I'm not. Truthfully, I can't really believe it lasted this long in the first place. Shawn's led a charmed life—guess he gets that from his mother." He gave her a wry grin, but she could see in his eyes that he accepted his role in Shawn being exactly the way he was.

"Every choice he made as an adult was his own, Henry. You know that."

"Eh." He shrugged. "Sorry you got caught in the middle."

"Me too, but I wasn't the only one, was I?"

Hands in his pockets—like his son—when they reached her car, he shrugged. "Still seems like you took the brunt of it."

Juliet thought about it. "Maybe in some ways, but I've had a lot of time to think and honestly, you know…"

"It was never going to last." He said it flatly, but without accusation or reproof. "You could have been good for him if he'd let you."

She kept her thoughts to herself on that point. "Will you come back as liaison in three months?"

"I don't know. Depends on whether I decide I like full retirement again." He grinned for a moment. "I kinda think I might want another shot. I don't like black marks on my record, and since this one was of my own doing, I feel a stronger need to clean it up."

"I can understand that." She unlocked the car.

He said, "Maybe by the time I come back, Lassiter will have made his move on you."

Startled, she whirled back to face him. "What?"

Henry chuckled. "Easy, girl. It was just a theory, which you've now confirmed."

"I haven't—I don't—what theory?"

His smile was broad and she was incredibly relieved Shawn and Gus were much too far away to hear any of this. "My theory, formed over several years now, that really the best man for you was the tall cranky one, not my son."

She blushed deeply.

"And as surprised as you are," he went on, still very much amused, "you're not really _that_ surprised at all, are you?"

Deep breath. Willing cheeks to be less hot.

"It's okay, kiddo. It's a private theory, and I'd have to be on sodium pentothal to admit it to Shawn, so don't worry."

Relaxing a bit, Juliet put one hand on the car to steady herself. "Like you said, it's been one hell of a ride."

He held out his hand, but she gave him a hug instead. "See you around, O'Hara. Tell Lassiter not to move my desk."

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Lassiter looked at the clock. Nearly five, and Juliet wasn't back, and though it hadn't even been forty-five minutes yet, he couldn't help but wonder how it was going, and what she would tell him about it.

What she might shield him from.

Her regrets, maybe, or her desire not to hurt him if she still had feelings for Shawn.

_Dammit, you idiot, a few hours ago she was writhing under _you_ and moaning out _your_ name while you_—_just _stop_ it. She _loves_ you. Stop _thinking.

_Then I wouldn't know myself_, he thought wryly, settling down into his chair.

The phone buzzed, and he snatched it up.

_Full circle. _

_Come again?_

_I'm on my way back, but I had to stop to text you._

_You could call. _He ruthlessly squashed the be-miserable voice which muttered that maybe she didn't want to call because something changed for her while she was talking to Spencer.

_No, because what we have got jumpstarted by a text, so now that everything's settling back down, only a text will do. Symmetry, you see._

_You have my full attention._

_Good. :-) I love you, Carlton. I love you so much_. _You are the One. You were always the One and always will be._

He had to remind himself to breathe. _I_ _love you too, Juliet. More than anyone, ever, and FORever_.

_And this new chapter with you isn't just a chapter… it's really the rest of the book. The book of us. _

Seriously, man. Breathe. _You're making this hardass SOB feel kind of mushy, O'Hara._

_It's good for you. And one more thing. I don't know if I really answered you yesterday so I will now: yes, I will marry you. As soon as possible. With no do-overs_.

Lassiter had to turn his chair to face the window; anyone who saw him right now would know he was about to lose it. _When in the hell are you going to get here so I can kiss you senseless?_

_Actually, I think I'm going home early today. Why don't you meet me there? _

Before he could type his response, she sent another.

_And love me?_

He was out of his chair in the next second, pausing only to type one more message: _I will be there in ten and I will love you until the day I die. _

Okay, one more: _Actually, probably longer_.

Her response was simple.

_:-)_

**. . . . .**

**. . . .**

**. . .**


End file.
